A Special Relationship of Questionable Identities
by Special-USxUK-Relationship
Summary: America and England have a Special Relationship… ‘Special,’ being the operative word. When Arthur’s mythical friends decide to try and save their failing friendship, the two nations wake to realize that they have switched bodies...
1. Don't call it a Special Relationship

**Story Title:** A Special Relationship of Questionable Identities

**Story Summary:** America and England have a Special Relationship… 'Special,' being the operative word. When Arthur's mythical friends decide to try and save their failing friendship, the two nations wake to realize that they have switched bodies. What will become of these questionable identities, and what will they have to do to return to supposed normalcy?

**Word Count:** 3700

**Status: **Ongoing chapters

**Warnings: ****TONS **of swearing. I swear a lot in writing. -_- Minimal editing. Also, later, there'll be some, err... Suggestive situations. This story also features a boyXboy pairing. If you don't like that, then this story probably won' t float your boat.

**Rated:** T (For now)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Hetalia in any way, shape, or form. I don't own the characters in the story despite their OOC-ness in some moments. If I owned Hetalia, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction, and I would certainly be the Supreme Ruler of the Universe. That's right. It's that good.

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**Author's Note:** So after years and years of reading other people's fanfictions, I have finally buckled down and wrote my own. Seriously, I started reading the stuff on here almost seven years ago! Therefore, I'll just say that everyone on here is amazing. I love reading your stories, and not just for my favourite fandom, **Hetalia**. You guys taught me about good writing, and sometimes bad. You also taught me sexual education. Seriously. Where would the world be without fanfiction? So this is my first ever fanfiction. Ever. I also wrote this for my favourite Hetalia pairing; **AmericaXEngland** (AlfredXArthur). Hetalia changed my life for the better, I think, so I write this for them! ^.^ I'm also dedicating this fic to one of my best friends, who is more like Alfred than she cares to admit. So, I hope you like this! **Thanks for everything!**

I'd love to hear people's comments on this story, which will continue for a little longer! I love to hear people's opinions! But I have never been critiqued on my writing, so take it easy? I like **constructive critism**, but nothing mean. This _is _my first fanfic ever... So... Well, I know there's no excuses, but still! I felt liable to tell you that! So, to , I love you! Now, it's my turn to try this out! O.^ Well, on with this story!!

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**Chapter One: Don't call it a Special Relationship, when it isn't special... **

_**The Group of Eight, or G8, is a forum created for the governments of eight nations of the northern hemisphere, Canada, France, Germany, Italy, Japan, Russia, Britain -United Kingdom-, and America. Each year, the responsibility of hosting the G8 rotates through the attending nations. The holder of the presidency sets the agenda, hosts the summit for that year, and determines which ministerial meetings will take place…**_

The meeting started the same way it had always started. It was a sunny Monday morning, small clouds dotting the blue, American sky. It _had_ to be America this year. It couldn't have been Britain. No… It was never Britain. Or rather, his turn never seemed to come… He was sure that all of the countries had gotten their chance. Even when he _was_ the official host of the G8 Summit that year, they held the meeting in _another_ country. One year it had been held in France, under _Britain's_ leadership. Big mistake. They would never make _that _slip-up again.

"But it's always raining there!" That had been Italy's excuse. Smart Italy. Unfortunately, almost all of the other nations nodded solemnly, like it was some sort of incurable curse… It was only _weather_. Although, more often times than not, it _did_ feel like a curse. Except, Arthur Kirkland would never admit that. Britain was _his_ country, and he would not undermine it in such a demeaning way. "It's always raining there," he had scoffed to himself in the safety of his own house; in his own country. Of course it had been raining when he had said that, trying to make his voice sound as annoying as Feliciano's had.

So here he was -here _they _were- on a warm Monday morning, sitting around a large table, discussing the world's problems. Like Arthur didn't have _enough_ to worry about without having to stress over America's financial issues, or Japan's environmental crises. That's why Arthur usually found himself leaning on his elbows staring out the window when he attended the Summit. Of course he made himself _look_ like he was paying attention. He had to keep his intimidating air about him still. He found it was the only way to get one's point across at these kinds of meetings.

Matthew had been late. Again. Canada was _always_ late, and Arthur sighed when the man burst through the door, blatantly scrambling to his seat beside France and America. Of course his suit was crinkled like he had slept in it and his tie was crudely strung around his neck. Arthur subtly buried his head in his hands. That had better not be any sort of reflection on Britain… It must have been Francis' doing… That frog had always been a bad influence on the young, easily-impressionable nation. He even _looked _like an innocent version of Francis, which was horrifying enough as it was.

After the group had settled, Alfred F. Jones took the floor as the host of the Summit. It _was_ his country after all… He began spouting off nonsense about heroes, hamburgers, aliens, and coffee. Germany looked utterly disturbed while Italy sat wide-eyed, listening intently to the American man before him. Arthur turned his gaze towards France who wore a rather unreadable expression; almost as if he was picturing Alfred without clothes… Arthur shivered visibly, turning his head to Japan, who was furiously scrawling down every word Alfred managed to stupidly sputter. "I think that building more McDonald's in poorer countries would increase our world's economy!" That was the last thing Arthur heard from him before he successfully tuned him out.

An hour passed and Italy took the floor. Pasta. What a shock. Another hour, then it was Germany's turn. All eyes were on the blonde-haired, blue-eyed man as his shouting was enough to make any person pay attention. Arthur was no exception. Half an hour more, then it was Francis' turn. He was even removed from the room after making sexually suggestive passes at _every_ nation there, while throwing in witty remarks about the world's dismissive state… Lunch. Finally! Arthur breathed a soft sigh of relief as everyone flooded from the room to find a suitable place to eat. Although, in America, that could prove to be quite the challenge.

Fortunately, Arthur had packed his _own_ lunch of home-made scones and tea. He smiled, when the last of the group had filtered out of the room. It wasn't long before his, 'friends,' popped in for a visit. "England!" It was a small fairy that called his name first, the others not far behind.

Arthur smiled after swallowing a mouthful of food, and dotting his mouth with a folded serviette. "Hello!" He greeted them, fondly running his hand through the unicorn's silky, rainbow-coloured mane and patting the fairy on her head with his finger. "I'm glad you guys came to visit me! But from England to America is an awfully long way to travel. Why did you decide to follow me?" The fairies and other mythical creatures had never followed him to a G8 meeting before...

"We were only worried about you England!" It was a tiny yellow pixie that had spoken first, more faeries echoing her concerns. "We know how hard these meeting can be on you! Especially since this one is in America! What with Independence Day coming up and-" The pixie was silenced by another faerie, who rudely shoved her out of England's sight. Arthur had to admit that he _had_ twitched slightly at her choice of words, but he could not blame her. After all, America's birthday _was_ coming up, and England hated that day more than any other one on the calendar… For _many_ obvious reasons.

The Fourth of July had been a terrible day for Arthur. Worse than terrible. There was no proper word to describe the feelings he felt when he saw an American flag raised on that day, or heard the people sing that blasted anthem. Alfred had left him on that day… And he never did come back. That would have been impossible. Alfred was gone forever. _Good riddance_, Arthur thought stubbornly. It damn near killed him that he was always so sad on that day. Arthur wanted to get over that day more than Alfred wanted him to.

The faeries had begun to speak in their native language consisting of small chirps and lyrical melodies, pulling Arthur from his thoughts. Arthur had tried to learn their language multiple times, but he found it to be quite impossible. Although he found comfort in the usually harmonious tunes of their voices, today, he found the chatter to be quite nerve-wracking. He decided to turn his attention back to the unicorn floating amiably by his side. "I'm glad you came to visit me as well, Princess Sparkle." England patted its head affectionately and it nuzzled into his palm, a delightful array of rainbow-coloured sparkles shedding from its silky hair. Arthur had to admit that the name, 'Princess Sparkle,' was a perfect fit, and the unicorn seemed thrilled by its title. Arthur usually refrained from using the creature's name in public places, for some _more_ obvious reasons, but he figured that since there was no one around to hear him, he could do as he pleased without the embarrassment of other nations overhearing.

"Did you just say, '_Princess Sparkle?!_'"

_Damn_. Arthur whipped around in his swivel-chair to face the intruder who had _rudely _been eavesdropping on his conversation with his friends; who were _not _imaginary.

"A-Alfred!" Arthur stuttered, as his green eyes locked with Alfred's blue ones. The American nation was leaning against the doorframe of the G8 meeting-room with an air of implied importance. Arthur quickly regained his composure as the surrounding faeries ceased their bickering and turned to face the other man as well. "Hasn't anyone ever taught you that spying on others is tasteless and obscene?"

Alfred only smiled one of his priceless, 'but-I'm-a-hero,' smiles, and entered the room, his hands placed gingerly inside the pockets of his jacket. His bomber jacket. Arthur was getting sick of it. The way he had it casually slung over his suit jacket was utterly inappropriate, to say the least. "Actually no," Alfred said, removing his hands, and pulling out a chair. He sat down and said, "That should have been your job. Dad."

England looked away and moved his gaze to his cooling cup of black-tea. "I suppose I can't expect idiots to remember _everything _I teach them, now can I?" It was a low blow, and Arthur was mildly ashamed with himself for it, as he could almost _feel_ the frown that Alfred had now plastered on his face. But he did deserve it for calling Arthur, _'Dad.' Especially_ this close to the Fourth of July.

"Well, at least I have _real_ friends. I don't need to create imaginary ones because I'm some kind of emotional psychopath with social problems. I may be an idiot, but at least I'm not a _friendless_ idiot."

Arthur had been delicately sipping his tea before America's last bout, but upon hearing the other nation's insult, promptly slammed the tea-cup down, nearly spilling its contents. America had _not_ just denied the existence of his best friends, and he certainly had _not _just called him an idiot, let alone, a _friendless_ idiot. No. America was smarter than that. And yet… "For. Your. Information," Arthur said, looking Alfred straight in the eyes, fists clenched. "Just because you're too _stupid_ to see my friends, doesn't mean they don't exist. Obviously you're just too scatter-brained to focus on them. And out of all the people in the world, no, make that the _universe_, to be calling me an idiot, it shouldn't ever be you. You're a worthless piece of _git_."

Now Alfred was angry. Arthur could visibly see it in his cerulean eyes, as the younger nation lowered his glasses to the table and readied his gaze on his former father-figure. "Relax old-man. 'Wouldn't want ya to stroke out on me. Oh wait. I do. Keep going." America leaned casually back in his chair, settling his feet on the table dangerously close to England's scones and tea.

Arthur's eye twitched. "Get your feet away from my tea," he said slowly and evenly.

Alfred looked down to where his feet rested not even six inches away from England's tea and plate of scones. "Oh," was all he said. "You mean this tea?"

Alfred did _not _just kick Arthur's tea over with his foot. That would have been plain stupidity. And yet, here he was. Arthur sat speechless as warm black-tea dripped off the glass table-top and onto his lap. "Ah," was all Arthur could say before regaining his former stance. America had removed his feet from the table and looked solemnly at Arthur, who had his hands positioned out in front of him, watching the tea-cup spin slowly on the table, like a failing child's top.

"Sorry," Alfred said innocently. "My foot must have slipped. I'm only an _idiot_ after all!"

Arthur's mental fuse was already short and he knew it wouldn't take much for his nerves to completely explode. He had already been anxious prior to America's intrusion, and now the git was simply _asking_ for it. The older nation attempted to count backwards in his head from ten. He could clearly hear the faeries beside him telling him to let the issue go. "Don't fight with him," one faerie pleaded. "Let it go England! You're better than this!" Arthur simply resumed his counting.

_Ten._ Not a good level to be at.

_Nine. _Getting better.

_Eight. _Why was America reaching for one of England's scones?

_Seven. _The tea on his lap was _really_ uncomfortable.

_Six. _Was it possible that Alfred was going to try one of his homemade scones, and compliment his cooking? Arthur sat up expectantly.

_Five. _Alfred took a bite of the scone and chewed slowly. Arthur sat up further, leaning his forearms against the table, avoiding the mess of tea.

_Five. _A look of blatant disgust passed over Alfred's face and he went a deathly pale. He stopped chewing and looked at England.

_Six. _Not good. _Bring it down. Bring it down!_ "God, Arthur, is this some kind of sick joke? Don't tell me you eat these of your own _free will! _This should be a biohazard!"

_Seven. _Arthur's stress levels were beginning to climb again.

_Eight. _America chucked the scone he had been eating into the nearby waste-bucket. The scone hit the garbage with a resounding _thud_.

_Nine. _Arthur could feel his blood beginning to boil again, as he gritted his teeth, unclenching and clenching his fists. "Really, England. You should learn how to cook. Now you're a friendless idiot with no sense of taste!"

_Ten. _"YOU BLOODY WANKER! I'LL SHOW YOU WHO THE _IDIOT_ IS, FUCKIN' GIT-FACE, PUNK-ASS, DOLT!!"

It had all happened so fast. One minute, Alfred is sitting upright with a smug grin on his face, and the next minute, he's lying flat on his back with Arthur sitting on his stomach throwing repeated punches into him. "Take that! Bloody prat!"

"Jesus Arthur! Cut it out! It was only a joke!" Alfred blocked Arthur's blows easily, much to the older man's dismay; yet he continued to throw them anyway, hitting America's chest and arms. Still audible to Arthur, was his magical friends, voicing their own opinions on the so called, 'pointless fight,' which Arthur was beginning to think was the beginning of World War III. Wouldn't that be ironic? Another Great War, started at a peaceful G8 meeting, by two countries with a supposed, 'Special Relationship.' Arthur almost laughed. Yeah. It was _special _alright.

But Arthur's prevailing stance was soon flipped upside down, when he managed to land a punch to Alfred's jaw. This, apparently, was Alfred's last straw, and with one swift movement, the younger nation pushed Arthur off of him, so that the older nation flew backwards, landing on his back. Arthur knew he would have been fine, had that glass table, used to seat all of the meeting's attending nations, not have been there. Unfortunately, it _had _been there, and Arthur felt his head forcibly hit the edge of said table with a sickening crash. He instantly felt nauseous as his body uncontrollably sunk to the floor.

"Oh my God!" Alfred exclaimed, rushing to Arthur's side. Arthur was on the edge of consciousness and he could feel himself slipping away. He was sure he was going to die. And it was all because of Alfred F. Jones. Now the man would have killed him twice. And this time, it was literal. "Arthur, are you okay?!" _Stupid American. _

"Nnnhh… Alfred. Call an ambulance. Nine… One… One…" Arthur closed his eyes, and he was sure he had passed out for a second. When he opened his eyes, his vision was getting rapidly blurrier. Yet, Alfred still hovered over him. Did Alfred not understand the fact that he was going to _die?! _When he felt Alfred's hand on his head, Arthur had had it. "B-Bloody git! Call for _help_!" Now, Arthur was one hundred percent sure he was going to die here, underneath the clear G8 table, with Alfred stroking his hair. So how the hell was the Brit managing to blush? He was _not_ going to die _blushing_. "Alfred," he said slowly, slipping away again. "Nine. One. One."

"Arthur! Don't die! What am I supposed to do without you?!" Alfred looked down on Arthur sadly, and the Briton was afraid that the last thing he was going to see was America's saddened face.

Arthur closed his eyes, and his tongue was too tied to respond. All he wanted was to know at least an ambulance had _tried _to get to him in time. Then again, this _was_ America… "Alfred," he managed softly.

"Yeah?" Alfred asked, leaning dangerously close to his face. Arthur was sure he could feel the blood that was supposed to be rushing to his cheeks, pour out the back of his head, but he just opened his eyes again. Had Arthur not been seconds away from death, he would have considered this to be a touching moment between nations. But because he _was _seconds away from death, all he could say was, "Alfred, if you don't call a bloody ambulance, I swear I'll come back from the grave and damn your life to _hell_!"

At this, Alfred leapt to his feet and turned his head frantically from side to side. Arthur gave a sigh of relief and closed his eyes one final time. At least he would have the comfort in knowing that help was on the way and he might even have a slim chance at life…That struck all kinds of fear within his heart, but he ignored it, focusing on the intense pain at the base of his skull, which, at the moment, was feeling much better in comparison.

Arthur felt Alfred take a sharp step to the right of him, and then another quick step to the left. "Arthur!" Nothing. "Arthur!!" Nothing. "IGGY!!!"

"WHAT?! CAN'T I JUST DIE IN PEACE, FOR CHRIST'S SAKES!?"

"What's the number for 9-1-1?"

One final nerve was snapped inside Arthur's dying brain, and with one swift kick to Alfred's knees, the younger nation flew forward, striking his forehead on the coveted G8 table-top. Alfred crashed down onto Arthur, and both nations let out a startling cry of pain. It may have been cynical, but Arthur figured that it would be better watching Alfred die, than it would have been watching him accidentally order a pizza instead of dial him an ambulance.

The last word that Arthur managed to let escape from his mouth was, "Idiot." Then he let his world succumb to darkness; one he was sure he would never awake from. _Oh well, _he figured. At least America was going down _with_ him and he could yell at the man in heaven… Or hell… Arthur wasn't sure where exactly they were going, but he _did_ know that this was not his time to go. Nor was it Alfred's. That had been a mistake. His last thought before he faded into an early death was, _someone help me! _Then he wished that the tea Alfred had spilt on his lap didn't make him look like he had pissed himself during his concussion. The least he could have done was died with dignity. And now, even that was out of the question.

Yet, little did Arthur know, that countries didn't fall that easily, and someone had heard his final plea for life…

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"_What do we do with these clowns now?!" _It was a small yellow pixie that spoke first. Her name was Aine. She was sure that Arthur had named her, 'Pix.'

"_I don't know, but we can't let them die." _A small green faerie spoke next, her lyrical voice, heard by England, was actually harsh and startling. Her name was Asparas. She was sure Arthur had named her, 'Tink.' Damn Disney. Damn _Alfred_.

"_I think we only have one option here. It may be the only way to turn their relationship around. This is the fifth time they've tried to kill each other this __**week**__! Although, I didn't think they'd actually do it this time… I'm getting tired of this." _It was a small gnome this time, clad in a forest green suit, undoubtedly one that Arthur had made for him. His name was Nisse, but Arthur called him… Well, he didn't really _have_ a name… Maybe the Brit _did _deserve to die.

The group of mythical creatures surveyed the scene in front of them. Arthur lay on his back, his head turned to the side, an obvious, gaping wound gushing substantial amounts of dark-red blood, in plain sight. Alfred lay on top of his former Empire, his head resting serenely on Arthur's chest. His head showed no visible injuries, but they knew it was all internal anyways.

"_Yes… I'm tired of this too. Shall we use the spell we talked about earlier? This way, they won't be able to fight without consequences," _Aine said, putting a small finger to her chin thoughtfully.

Asparas laughed. _"Let's!" _She exclaimed. _"Then the only way to break the spell will be for Arthur and Alfred to admit that they love each other, and then seal it with-" _

Aine stopped her. _"Oh, Arthur's doomed." _

Nisse shrugged. _"Oh well… Then they'll be stuck like that, is all!" _Apparently, not one of Arthur's, 'friends,' thought reasonably.

"_Alright," _Aine said sceptically. _"I hope they can get out of this eventually. I'm sure Arthur'll wish he would have burned in hell…" _

"_Alright," _the magical beings said at once, beginning their conniving chant that would change both nation's lives forever:

"_Alfred and Arthur, always fight. _

_Arthur and Alfred see no light. _

_May Alfred and Arthur find true love. _

_May Arthur and Alfred stand above. _

_Can Alfred and Arthur's lives be rich? _

_Can Arthur and Alfred survive this… _

_**SWITCH!**" _

In the flash of light that followed, the only sound to be heard was the gentle hum of the mythical creatures as they watched the smooth, white light illuminate the bodies of Alfred and Arthur. That, and a rather loud, obnoxious, and obviously _male_, unicorn angrily exclaimed, _"And why the FUCK does he call me, 'Princess Sparkle?!'" _

Yes, the creatures of Arthur's, 'imagination,' knew that this _had_ to work. If their plan failed, so would Arthur and Alfred's, 'Special Relationship.' There were consequences for every spell of theirs that did not work as planned. Only this time, the future bond between two nations was at stake and the creatures were sure anything could stem from that relationship crumbling. Sadness? Confusion? World War?

They all held their breaths, as the rest of the world streamed back into the room, and laid their eyes on the bloodied bodies of Alfred and Arthur lying on top of each other, under the G8 table. Although they looked dead, these nations were very much alive. And out of all the nations, who rushed to their aid, only France got the wrong impression of the situation. No. This had nothing to do with sex… Or did it? Somewhere, certain fairies, gnomes, and unicorns were laughing.

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**Author's Note (Again): **Thank you for sticking around to read this weird little thing. Sorry for the rhyming fail... And the mythical-name fail. For some reason I thought it was funny to think that England's magical friends act all cute in front of him, but when they talk to eachother, they're kind of harsh and impolite. XP I'll update this as soon as I can, so sit tight! And again, thanks. So, do me a favour and **review**! O.^


	2. I really hate you and these damn books

**Story Title: **A Special Relationship of Questionable Identities

**Story Summary: **America and England have a Special Relationship… 'Special,' being the operative word. When Arthur's mythical friends decide to try and save their failing friendship, the two nations wake to realize that they have switched bodies. What will become of these questionable identities, and what will they have to do to return to supposed normalcy?

**Word Count: **9639

**Status: **Ongoing chapters

**Warnings: TONS **of swearing. I swear a lot in writing. -_- Minimal editing. Also, later, there'll be some, err... Suggestive situations. This story also features a boyXboy pairing. If you don't like that, then this story probably won' t float your boat.

**Rating: T** (for now)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Hetalia in any way, shape, or form. I don't own the characters in this story, despite their OOC-ness in some moments. If I owned Hetalia, I wouldn't be writing fan fiction about it, and I would certainly be the supreme ruler of the Universe. That's right. It's that good.

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**Author's Note: **Okay! I'm back for round two! And I just have to thank **everyone** for reviewing. You guys don't know how much I appreciated them all! You really don't! TTnTT I love all you guys for reading this fanfic, reviewing, adding this story to your favourites, adding it to your alerts, adding **me** to your favourite authors, and adding **me** to your author alerts! There's a joy I hadn't expected. But really, every single comment and action made me smile. You are truly awesome!

I also have to say, that **writing the second chapter was much harder than writing the first**. I don't care what anyone says, that was tricky! I hope I'm not letting anyone down with this one. It's a little bit more serious so I hope you'll still like it. Also, there is much more... Cursing. I don't swear like this in my everyday life, but in this writing, I do. Funny, eh? (Canadian, eh?) But if you don't like it, I'll surely... Clean it up a bit? I personaly like it. It adds a twisted sense of charm. ;n.n Once again, I dedicate this story to my friend, who isn't even aware that I'm writing it... Oh boy... But she's on vacation, so I understand. She'll be surprised. **BUT** on with this weird little thing!! ^.^

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**Chapter Two: I really hate you **_**and**_** these damn books**

**The term, 'Special Relationship,' is a phrase often used to describe the exceptionally close political, diplomatic, cultural and historical relations between the United States and the United Kingdom. It was first used in 1946 by British statesman Winston Churchill. While both countries maintain close relationships with many others, the level of cooperation in military planning, execution of military operations, nuclear weapons technology, and intelligence sharing with each other has been described as "unparalleled" among major powers.**

Death was quiet. That was the first thing that Arthur Kirkland had took note of. It was also dark. He had expected as much, but he didn't think it was going to be so _uncomfortable. _Arthur's whole body felt stiff and rigid like he had been hit by a ton of bricks and then left to die somewhere. Maybe he had. Maybe this was _hell_. He shivered. So hell was _cold_? He hadn't expected hell to be cold. And was hell _supposed_ to smell like disinfectant and old vitamins? Well it _was_ hell. He figured hell could have smelt like anything it wanted to. So, with only a general feeling of discomfort coursing though his body and a heightened sense of smell, Arthur settled into his thoughts. After all, wouldn't he have all of eternity to do just that? He wished, however, that he had been allowed to keep his sense of sight and could feel something _other_ than that horrible solidity in his muscles. Then, as if on cue, his forehead exploded with an almost unbearable pain. Okay, _now _he believed he was _really _in hell.

Instinctively, the man moved his hand to his head as if it was meant to soothe his aching skull. Arthur became alarmed when he noticed his vision, previously drowned out by darkness, turn white and almost hazy. There was also a loud, obnoxious, beeping noise coming from somewhere nearby. The pain, the light, and the noise became too much for Arthur and he fought past his stiffness to sit bolt upright. At the same time, his eyes snapped open, allowing all of the light to overtake his vision. The beeping sound, coming from his right he figured, increased in volume and velocity.

Suddenly, all of his memories came rushing into his brain, still rather sore from his fall against that stupid table. Alfred. Alfred had killed him. Well, attempted to kill him. Then Arthur had attempted to kill _Alfred_. It seemed to be an all out brawl. At one point, Arthur was sure he had been strangling the _life_ out of the younger nation. And what had that been over? Spilt tea? Arthur scowled. It was _good _tea…

When Arthur's vision finally cleared, his eyes took in what appeared to be a clean, white room. _Heaven?! _Impossible. He hadn't done anything special to get _there_. That was when he realized that he was sitting upright in a _hospital_ bed. Okay. This was good. Not heaven. Not hell. Life! It sounded alright.

Across from the British man was a plain wall with only a single piece of art hanging on its bare surface. From what he could see, it was a picture of the New York City skyline during the night. So Arthur was still in America. He turned his attention to his right and found the source of that wretched beeping. Arthur eyed the heart monitor as the line running across its small screen proved that he was, indeed alive. He could also hear the steady drip of the IV bag hanging above his head. Well, at least he was getting something for the pain in his head. Some good ol' alcohol would have done the trick then. He _wished_ he had a bottle at the moment. _Anything_ would have done.

Arthur ran his hand through his hair and he looked down at his knees, which he had pulled up against his chest. He realized that he had been dressed in regulation hospital pyjamas, made up of cotton pants and a night-shirt. There was a bandage tied expertly around his head, avoiding his bangs. This was worse than any hangover he had ever had. It even topped the one he had the morning he woke up beside Fran- He shivered. He would rather _not_ recall that memory at the moment…

He felt different to say the least, but Arthur figured that it was because of his head injury. He had most likely suffered from a concussion. His body felt heavier; and why were his bangs falling into his eyes this badly? How long had he been asleep?! Arthur became frantic, looking for a clock. No. A calendar. Wait. Why would he need _any_ of those things? They wouldn't help him now. He hoped that the fall against the table hadn't mucked up his brain function in any way. He almost became sick at the fact that he and Alfred could potentially share the same level of intelligence now.

As Arthur's eyes scanned the room he saw a small nightstand, a pair of glasses and a cup of water resting on its surface. He eyed a couple of chairs, a door most likely leading to bathroom, and another hospital bed with an _exact copy of himself_ lying amongst the sheets and pillows. England nodded. Nothing out of the ordinary here. Just a normal hospital room, with a normal nightstand, normal chairs, a normal bathroom, and a normal replica of himself sleeping in the bed next to his. Nothing strange at all…

England stopped, his breath catching in his chest. _What?! _That last part was definitely _not _normal. He whipped his head around to his right, despite the pain he felt in his forehead. Wait. Hadn't he hit the _back_ of his head? Why in the bloody hell was his _forehead_ on fire? Arthur shook his head. That was _**not**_ the problem here. It took the Brit a moment to actually register the fact that that was definitely _himself_ lying next to him. Or if that wasn't himself, then it was a _damn _good actor. The hair was the same and the eyebrows… Even England had to admit that he had distinctive eyebrows. No, they weren't huge, as everyone seemed to think; they were only… Distinguishing. But that man on the bed was definitely Arthur. There was no mistaking it…

Arthur became nervous. Did that mean he was _dead? _Was he some sort of ghost, damned to a life of roaming the earth looking for some kind of bizarre medium that would send him to the Great Beyond?! That was crazy! _This _was crazy! The British ghost stood up slowly, feeling the small IV tug at his arm. He realized that he was still attached to it. With one angry swipe, Arthur ripped the needle from his vein and tossed it aside. He was dead. Why would he need that _now? _

His hands were shaking as he made his way over to the second bed. Suddenly the pain in his head felt a lot better compared to _this_. Arthur looked so peaceful lying there… His eyes were closed, a bandage tied to his head, hugging his injury. His mouth hung open in a lazy expression, a small amount of spittle on his relaxed lips. Arthur blushed, and feeling embarrassed for himself, wiped it away with the back of his hand. He hoped he didn't _always _sleep like that…

_Beep. Beep. Beep. _Why was his monitor still making those damned noises? It should have been _flat-lining. _He was _dead _after all. Dead people didn't have heartbeats…

Arthur turned back to his sleeping self, and jumped when the man below him breathed a soft sigh. Dead people didn't sigh either… What in the blazes was going on here? Was he about to die? Was his spirit split in two? How the _fuck_ was he supposed to join them back together?!

"U-Uh…" He couldn't even speak properly. Arthur was going to be sick. Bathroom. Where was that bathroom?! Arthur stumbled blindly over to the awaiting toilet to throw up the scones and tea he had half-eaten earlier. He fumbled in the dark for the lights and once he flicked the switch, he faced the mirror…

If Arthur wasn't dead before, he certainly was _now_. He was sure that everyone in the _country_ could blatantly hear the British man yelling, "_**SHIT!!**_" from his place in the small hospital bathroom.

Arthur stared at his reflection in the mirror with a look of horror, disgust, and _NOT_ mild curiosity. Or rather, he looked at the reflection of one Alfred F. Jones. America. He had expected to see _himself _in the mirror. England. _Arthur… _Not this! _Never_ this! _**What the hell?! **_Everything about his appearance screamed America. Those crystal clear, cerulean-blue eyes, widened in obvious shock. That mouth, usually pulled back into a stupid looking grin, twitched into a hapless gape. Even his _hair_ was the _goddamn same_. W-Was that _Nantucket?! _No. No! This was _not _happening! He was _not _America!! He was Arthur! So why was the mirror _lying_ to him? Why was the other man on the bed _lying_ to him?

The British, apparently turned American, man walked slowly back over to himself, hands shaking, brow sweating. He again hovered over himself and watched with a perplexed fascination as the Arthur on the bed tossed in his sleep, fitfully pulling at the blankets around him… Almost like Alfred always did…

"W-Wake up!" England said suddenly, shaking his bizarre look-alike, or rather, _himself_. His voice sounded startlingly different. His voice was obviously American. There was a smoothness to it and he could feel the syllables drawl slowly from his lips. The only thing that made it different was his overlapping British accent. He still had it, if only slightly. Now his voice just sounded like pure hell. It was as if Alfred was trying to do a cameo of his accent, failing terribly at it; or like someone had fan dubbed one of Japan's stupid anime videos poorly. The picture wasn't matching up with the sound. At all. "Wake up!" Arthur called again, shaking the other man's shoulders roughly now.

Arthur watched the man stir in his sleep and held his breath as his eyelids fluttered open, only to close again. "A-Alfred!" It was a complete shot in the dark, but somewhere inside Arthur, now turned Alfred, there was a feeling that told him that the sleeping man before him had _America_ trapped inside. That had to be it. Arthur and Alfred had switched bodies…

Alfred's eyes snapped open and he sat up slowly. Arthur watched as the younger man touched the back of his head and winced. Like himself, nothing was fully registering yet. When Alfred finally _did _look up at Arthur, he had to squint his eyes. Instinctively, the American, turned British, man reached for his glasses on the nightstand, pushing them up the bridge of his nose. He turned his attention back to the one who had disturbed his slumber.

There was a brief moment of silence as the two nations looked at each other, both blinking rapidly. Finally, Alfred spoke. "Very funny Tony," he said, giving a nervous laugh. Of course his accent was American. Arthur had to admit that it looked a bit strange for the European nation before him to be speaking with an almost southern American accent. "You can stop playing that joke on me. That got old…"

"Tony?" Right. Alfred's alien. And he had called _Arthur_ a friendless idiot? At least his friends weren't from outer space! "It's me… Arthur! England."

Alfred burst into a fit of laughter now, clutching his stomach, occasionally letting out a groan of pain from his injuries. "O-Okay Tony! That's funny! But your accent is horrible!" Alfred chuckled and then cleared his throat. He looked back up to Arthur, his eyes, now a vibrant green, showing a look of mild concern and mild _amusement_. When he realized that the Alfred before him _wasn't_ changing back into the small alien he had befriended, he stopped smiling. "Tony?"

"I told you," Arthur said slowly. "I'm England. I don't know where your _bloody_ alien is."

Alfred's, now thick, eyebrows were slanted in confusion and then they relaxed. "Oh, okay. I'm dreaming. 'S'alright." He flopped down on the bed again, pushing the covers off of himself, and getting comfortable. "Weird dreams… I knew I shouldn't have eaten Arthur's scones. Yuck."

Arthur had passed the stages of confusion, hopelessness, horror, and shock… Now he was angry. Wasn't he always angry? "This isn't a dream, you bloody git! Now get up and deal with it!" In his blind rage, Arthur had lifted his foot and kicked Alfred in the side to prod him awake once more. That was when he finally discovered how much power America _really_ did possess. The Arthur before his eyes was sent flying off the bed and sprawling to the floor, the IV tearing from his arm as he went. Alfred hit the ground with a hard _thump_.

"FOR FUCK'S SAKES!" Alfred hissed holding the back of his head, standing up quickly. "What the hell is your problem?!"

"You want to know what my _problem_ is?? You want to know why I'm _angry_ and _stressed_ and _**confused**_??" Arthur clenched his fists, trying hard to suppress his anger. He wondered how America did it. The older nation grabbed the younger one by the shoulders and practically threw him into the bathroom. He spun Alfred around so that he faced the mirror point-blank. "THIS is my problem _America_."

When Alfred caught sight of his reflection in the small mirror above the bathroom sink, he reacted. And it wasn't the reaction that Arthur was hoping for. To say the least, Alfred screamed. Loudly. It wasn't even a self-dignifying one. It wasn't an, 'Oh-God-what's-happened-to-me,' scream; nor was it a, 'What-the-hell-is-this-and-how-am-I-going-to-fix-this,' scream. It was more of a, 'I'm-acting-like-a-senseless-and-irrational-prat-who's-yelling-so-loud-the-whole-hospital-staff'll-be-here-in-a-second,' scream. At least, that's what England thought. But when Alfred turned to him and suddenly gripped his shoulders, Arthur let out a startled shriek. Now both nations were looking from one another to their reflections in the mirror, screaming their fool heads off, arms clasped around the other tightly.

"What the hell happened to me?!!" Alfred shouted. "I'm _BRITISH!!!_"

Arthur shot him a quick glare but faced the mirror again, as he watched Alfred quickly turn to touch his face and hair in attempt to solidify the fact that, yes, the two nations had indeed switched bodies.

"I-I'm not awesome anymore!!" Alfred cried making Arthur look like a poor excuse for a man. "I want my body back! Give it back to me Arthur, I swear!"

"You think I _took_ this from you?" Arthur almost screeched. "You think I _like_ being you?! Newsflash, America, you never _were_ awesome!! And you think I don't want _my_ body back?! I look like a fat _hick_!"

Alfred, seeming to ignore all of England's comments, continued on with his worried rant. "My birthday is coming up! I can celebrate my birthday if I'm you! You couldn't possibly pull that off!"

Arthur blinked. _Why the hell was Alfred worried about his __**birthday**__? _But he was right. There was no way Arthur could pull off being the host of America's party. That was his least favourite day of the year! Every time that date rolled around the man was an emotional wreck! Both nations were panicking now. "O-Okay, Alfred… Let's just calm down and think of a way to fix this."

"_Calm down?_"Alfred spat. "How can I _calm down _when I look like a _freak!?" _It appeared that the younger man was hyperventilating as he sat down hard on his hospital bed, fidgeting fretfully.

"Ignoring that comment," Arthur said calmly, sitting across from Alfred on his own bed. He was glad that, so far, no nurses had come to check on them. He figured that they were also fortunate not to have any _other_ visitors. The last thing he wanted right now was to run into any of the other nations. "Think Arthur. Think," he said out loud. "What could have caused this…? What happened to us that was seemingly… Out of the ordinary."

Alfred gave one good laugh. "Uh, besides the fact that we both bashed our brains out on that stupid table?"

"D-Don't be vulgar…" Arthur said, but stopped when he got a sudden idea. A glimmer of hope. "T-That's it! Alfred you're a genius!" Arthur stood up then and walked around his bed, out into the open.

"I-I am?" Alfred looked up with some sort of hopeful glimmer in his green eyes.

Arthur stopped. "No. Not really. But you're thinking. Which is… Different."

Alfred smiled and Arthur compared his look to that of a hopeless puppy. Sometimes America really was a dolt. "So, what's the plan?"

Arthur paced the length of the hospital room again. "When you said that we, err… 'Bashed our brains out,' it made me think… Maybe we need to do it again. Maybe we hit our heads so hard that it kind of… Knocked us into each other's bodies?"

Alfred stifled a laugh. "Now who's sounding vulgar?"

"S-Shut up!" Arthur countered smartly, feeling a slow blush work its way into his cheeks. He wondered if the blush showed up as badly on _Alfred's_ face as it would have on his own. "Anyways, I think we need to reverse this somehow… Like re-enact that scenario… If we do that then maybe things will return to normal."

"So what you're saying is, we have to smash each other's skulls in… Again?"

"Right!" Arthur exclaimed. He scanned the room with his blue orbs, his eyes coming to rest on two hardcover books that lay on the nightstand beside the cup of water. So there _had_ been people in here visiting them before. Arthur picked up the books, scanning the top cover for a title. French. _Francis… _Arthur narrowed his eyes and was instantly nervous. What had that frog done to them while they were unconscious? Arthur shook his head. _What you don't know, won't kill you_, he thought quickly. He turned back to Alfred and handed him one of the thick novels. "Stand up," he said, striding over to the door of the room, making sure it was fully closed. Damn. There were no locks.

"You want me to hit you on the head with a book?" Alfred said, his voice possessing an undertone of worry. He was standing now, facing Arthur, who had his back turned to the door of their room.

"No. I want _us_ to hit _each other _on the head with these books." Arthur gave a weak smile. "It'll be fine," he added quickly. "This has to work."

Alfred nodded, practicing his swing, and Arthur swallowed the lump of fear in his throat. If what had happened when Arthur kicked Alfred off of the bed was any indication as to how much power that lay in Alfred's body, then the man before him was in for a headache. "It'll hurt," Arthur said evenly.

"No shit, Sherlock."

Arthur coughed. "Alright then. On three. One… Two…"

"Is everything all right in here?" Came a small voice from the door. Arthur whipped his head around to face a young nurse as she entered into the small hospital room and stood inside the door frame.

England lowered his book. "I-"

But it was too late as Arthur was blind-sided by Alfred's swing, Francis' book connecting evidently with his head. Alfred even had the gall to yell out an excited, "Three!!"

"Fuck!" Arthur groaned, sinking to the floor.

"Oh my God, Arthur!" Alfred cried, kneeling beside the older nation. "Are you okay?!" _STUPID American. _

"Do I _look_ okay?! Bloody prat!" Arthur held his head in his hands and sucked in shallow breaths of air.

"I can see that I'm interrupting something," the nurse said quickly, backing up through the door, and into the hall. "I'll come back later… When you're not as busy." With that, the door was closed again and the two nations were left alone once more.

"You hit me with a _book_!" Arthur hissed, turning his attention back to the American man at his side. "That bloody _hurt_! Goddamn Yank."

"You _told_ me to hit you in the head with a book!" Alfred countered, standing up and running his hands through his new hair. "God… This would never've happened had you not've kicked me back then! Then I wouldn't have hit my head!"

Arthur looked up and narrowed his blue eyes. "Well we wouldn't _have_ been in this mess had you not _have_ pushed me down _first!_"

"We wouldn't even _have_ to deal with this crap had you not've made those disgusting scones and pissy tea!"

"Well we would have been fine had you not have interrupted my lunch and denied the existence of my _friends!_"

"Well I'd have my awesome body still, had you not've acted like a damn _freak_ every time the Fourth of July rolls around. I know you go and damn _cry _all the time and bitch about how the world's so cruel to you! 'Oh-I'm-England-and-everyone-hates-me-so-I'm-going-to-go-cry-and-feel-fuckin'-sorry-for-myself-and-act-like-a-freakin'-douche-all-the-time.'"

_Ouch. _That hurt. And Arthur cursed himself for the fact that he couldn't hide it. "Well," he started again. "I wouldn't act that way had you not have _left_ me all those years ago. Abandonment and betrayal have consequences _America._"

Suddenly the problems stemmed far beyond the fact that America and England had switched bodies… Arthur knew that that had been a low blow, but figured that the bastard deserved it. He was not expecting, however, the lower blow that _America _was about to deliver. Alfred _always_ had the final say it seemed…

"Well, maybe I would never've _left_ had you actually _loved _me and _cared_ for me… Had I'd known that you were always going to _leave_ me and use me for your damn personal gain; I wouldn't have picked _you_ in the first place… I wonder what my name would have been in _French_…"

Arthur lost it then. "You ungrateful, bloody _git!! _You know _**nothing!!**_ Your head really _must _be full of your damn hamburgers if you call _that _a truth! You're a damn **fool** America. You always were and you always will be. You're a bloody idiot; to the fucking core… You're right. I never loved you… _**I hate you!**_"

"Well fuck me if I didn't tell you that _**I hate you too**_."

"WOULD YOU TWO JUST SHUT THE HELL UP!!??"

Arthur whipped his head around, ignoring his headache, half expecting to see one of the G8 nations standing in the door, and was surprised to see his magical friends before him. He was _almost _glad to see them… Yet, something seemed… Off. "T-Tink?" He asked the small green faerie in the lead. Where had she learned to _speak_ like that?

"Cut that crap," the faerie said, floating towards the two nations. "My name's not Tink," she spat. "It's Asparas. Get that through your thick British skull. I've lived with too much of your damn bullshit to put up with it anymore. I'm going to start drinking more than _you_ do!"

Arthur jumped, his eyes wide. Since when were his friends so horrible? He was sure that Tink -No. Asparas- had a voice equitable to the softness of rain… So why did she sound so much like _Russia_? It was a bit unnerving to say the least.

Yet, England didn't have much time to respond before America cut in. "Holy shit!! I can _see _them!!! T-They _are_ real!!"

Arthur turned his head sharply to face America, who had gone as white as the bed sheets, his mouth hanging open in blatant shock. His green eyes were three times their normal size and his hands shook visibly as he backed away from the now larger group of mythical creatures. How was it possible that America could see them now? Was it because they had switched bodies? But England could still see them and _boy_ did they look angry… Then Arthur realized what had happened. "Why did you _do_ this to us?!"

A small yellow pixie floated forward, pushing Tink -No. Asparas- out of the way. "Isn't that obvious?" She asked harshly. "I mean, if you can't figure that one out you're obviously pretty stupid, and you should be stuck that way forever."

Arthur ignored her rather curt tone of voice, and pressed on. "You mean, we can get out of this? How?"

"Well where would the fun be in just _telling_ you?" England's gnome stepped forward, and Arthur couldn't help but smile when he saw his friend wearing the tiny suit he had made for him. "And for your information," the gnome said before Arthur could greet him properly. "I _do_ have a name. It's Nisse, and you'd do well to have it memorized."

"S-Sorry," was all Arthur could say. This was really too much for the Briton. In the same day, he had switched bodies with Alfred, who was sitting on the floor again trying to smooth out his new pair of eyebrows, with little success _and_ he had also found out that his magical, 'friends,' weren't very good, 'friends,' at all. "But can't we have some sort of a clue?"

Pix sighed heavily. "Fine. We'll give you a clue. Notthatyou'resmartenoughto_get_itbutwhatever." She paused for a moment critiquing the two men before her with her golden eyes. "America and England are nations that have something that no other countries have. And it isn't something industrial or material. What you have is crumbling and falling apart. It's going to take a miracle to fix it and it better well be damned soon, or you're in trouble. And my name's Aine."

"You mean our Special Relationship?" England cut in. "That's just a phrase! A political quip. It's not _valid_!"

Nisse scoffed. "You're nations. Of course it's valid. And it's breaking. Do you know what happens when a nation's relationship falls apart? You _must_ know Arthur."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. Of course he did. It meant war. He looked at Alfred who sat on the balls of his feet, flipping through France's novel. "So you're saying we have to fix that relationship." It was more of a statement, but at least Arthur knew that Alfred had been paying attention.

"Dunno," Nisse said, turning around. "We only had to give you a clue."

"I'm not going to marry England," Alfred said stubbornly, keeping his eyes on the book's pages.

Arthur jumped. "Y-You dolt! We don't have to get _married_!"

"And I'm not sleeping with you either."

Arthur sighed and turned back to face the mythical beings that had stood before him only seconds ago. The only one left was England's unicorn. It hovered above the hospital's linoleum floor, blinking slowly. Its sparkly hair and rainbow tinted mane were a comfort to Arthur and he smiled, stretching out his arms to embrace the creature. "Princess Spa-"

Suddenly the unicorn wasn't so cheery looking anymore and gave England one of the most horrifying death-glares he had ever received. Arthur shrieked, jumping back, before the unicorn turned its tail and disappeared to do God knows what.

What the hell was all _that_ about? Arthur felt sick. He had lost his friends, it seemed. All because he couldn't think of nice enough names. It wasn't his fault that with old age came a sort of fallow sense of imagination…

A Special Relationship? That was only a term. Something that one of his old bosses had coined. It wasn't as if it _meant_ anything. Not now. America and England's bosses may have been close, but Alfred and Arthur's opinions differed highly. Great. So they had to fix a relationship that never even existed in the first place. How was that even possible? Suddenly, Arthur felt hopeless and scared. What if they couldn't even be friends, let alone re-form their Special Relationship? He buried his head in his hands, counting backwards. He was so close to a complete breakdown.

"And I'm not going to be your friend," Alfred said. Arthur hadn't even been aware he was still going on about that.

"And I'm sure as hell not going to tell you I love you."

Arthur took in a deep breath, his numbers climbing. "Stop talking America," he warned, squeezing his eyes shut in concentration.

"And I don't want to have a relationship at all with a stuck-up _British_ guy. You're all as annoying as _hell._"

"Shut. Up. America."

"And I _really_ don't want to be stuck in your skinny little body with bad taste in _everything_. You're too old anyways. I feel like if I move too fast, I'm going to throw my back out! I don't want to even _**live**_ in Britain! It's always raining there…"

'_It's always raining there…'_

'_I don't want to have the G8 meeting in Britain! It rains too much there!'_

'_Let's have the meeting in France even though it's England's turn to be the host!' _

"I BLOODY _**HATE **_THE RAIN!!" Arthur snapped, grabbing one of Francis' books and repeatedly beating America with it. "WHY. CAN'T. IT. EVER. BE. SUNNY. IN. BRITAIN?"

"Shit, Arthur!" Alfred yelled, trying desparetly to stand up. "It was a joke!" But his voice didn't last long as Arthur delivered one final blow to Alfred's head, sending the other nation into a state of unconsciousness. He'll be fine… The git. He was always bloody fine…

"I _really_ do hate you," Arthur said, standing up, and tossing the book down onto Alfred's chest. Before the older man could turn around, the book's title caught his eye. '_Un Rapport Spécial.' _A Special Relationship. _Damn! _It couldn't have been any _other_ book! It _had_ to be the book about special relationships that Arthur had used to club his counterpart over the head with. "And I _**hate**_ Francis." Really. Why did he _have_ that stupid book?!

A sudden clatter of light tin and tiny pills hitting the hard floor drew Arthur's attention back to the door. The same nurse stood before him with a look of sheer horror on her face. Arthur blinked and said the only thing that came to his mind. "This isn't what it looks like." And in truth, Arthur wasn't sure _what _it was supposed to look like. What was one supposed to think when they walked into a room only to find a man standing over another man, the second _clearly_ unconscious with a book lying across their chest that clearly read, _'Un Rapport Spécial.' _

The nurse looked down to the floor where Alfred was lying, then looked back at Arthur with wide eyes. She backed up and out of the room a second time, shutting the door behind her. Arthur sighed, before turning back to Alfred, as he lay sprawled out on the floor, an obvious lump forming on his forehead. "Come on," England said, lifting Alfred off the floor, which he found surprisingly easy to do in America's body, and setting him on his bed. He covered the man up with the blankets and smiled, rubbing his head gently. "But you deserved that though… Fuckin' git… And who said I wanted to sleep with you and get married anyways?"

* * *

"_Do you think they'll be okay?" _

"_Who cares?" _

"_I don't know. But you gave pretty shitty clues." _

"_Well you said it. If they don't know why we did this to them, then they deserve to be stuck like that."_

"_Well, sure, but-" _

"_Don't tell me you're going soft on us!" _

Asparas grunted in obvious dissatisfaction at Nisse's choice of words as the two of them seemingly bickered. They had successfully performed their spell, but at what cost? Asparas was beginning to feel nervous, and only a tad bit guilty. She wasn't going soft on anybody. She just didn't want to be responsible for starting a world war.

"_I still think they're both going to die. How about, if they kill each other this time, we just let them? I'm getting tired of trying to make Arthur feel better about the Fourth of July. I swear if I have to comfort him when he's freakin' crying again, I'm going to punch someone. And it's going to be you guys because you're just as annoying." _Aine floated to Asparas' side, her hands on her hips, and her nose up in the air.

There was a small flash of light before the fourth magical being joined them. _"Where the hell were you?" _Asparas asked the unicorn, hovering at her side.

Asparas couldn't overlook the dark gleam in the unicorn's eye when he spoke_. "Just wrapping up some unfinished business…" _

The faerie rolled her eyes. _"I need a drink," _she said, beginning to drift away from the rest of the group.

"_But it's only one o'clock in the afternoon!" _Aine called after her friend. _"How about you go do something other than drink?! Like get a life?" _

"_How about you go fuck yourself!" _Asparas disappeared in a puff of green smoke and Aine was left alone with Nisse and the infamous, 'Princess Sparkle.'

"_Well…" _Nisse said. _"You guys wanna go too?" _

Aine shrugged. _"Yeah. Sure."_

The rest of the group disappeared following their green faerie friend to some American bar. It might have been one o'clock in the afternoon, but after the day they had, they couldn't _wait _for a drink. They figured that that had been Arthur's fault as well… England should have never wondered why his friends had turned out the way they did.

* * *

Back at the hospital, a couple of the G8 nations had stopped by America and England's room to check up on them. When France and Canada arrived, they came upon a nurse huddled behind her work station complaining about the two crazy guys in room 212 and how she was _not_ going back in to change their bandages. So America and England were in room 212. They didn't even need to ask.

When they entered the room, Canada was the first to speak. "Well, it looks like they're feeling better." The young man looked down at his older brother, Alfred, as he sat in one of the hospital chairs, his arms folded under his bandaged head as he slept soundly at Arthur's bedside. Arthur too was pleasantly sleeping with an open book on his chest.

France walked forward and picked up the book, glancing at its title. He chuckled to himself. "It appears as though these two certainly do have, '_Un Rapport Spécial.'_"

The Canadian man looked up to his, 'father-figure.' "I think so too." He smiled when he felt Francis' hand on his shoulder and he squeezed Kumajirou tighter.

"We should leave them be, Mon Cher," The older nation said, leading Matthew from the room. As the two countries walked outside, Francis wondered why Arthur even possessed a copy of that book… And in French. The Frenchman had never seen such a book before. He shrugged. He would have to ask Arthur if he could borrow it one day. It looked… Promising…

Little did these nations know, that America and England's relationship was anything but promising and that they had quite the hurdle to jump in order to fix it. Was it possible for Alfred and Arthur to create a new kind of relationship and in different bodies? For that was surely what it took to change back…

"_**May the love hidden deep inside your heart find the love waiting in your dreams. May the laughter that you find in your tomorrow wipe away the pain you find in your yesterdays..."**_

And the second book, that was cast aside, carelessly left on the cold floor of the hospital room, was entitled, _'Love.' _

Arthur's magical friends could not have left a more obvious clue…

* * *

**Author's Note (Again**): _Pfft..._ Well? Good? No? Why don't you **tell me what you think by giving this a review**? Like I said, this was hard to write, but it was fun! Oh, sorry for the French fail... I was never good in that class. I've been in it for about nine years, and have NOTHING to show for it. (I started young XD) Also, I would like to know if everyone who reviewed for chapter one is getting their review replies. I do reply to ALL of them, so I hope you get them alright. I am kinda new at this. Anyways, thanks for your time, and I would love to hear your opinion! No flames please! I'm not fire-resistant. But I do accept **constructive criticism**! Thanks!


	3. I knew we were different, but still!

**Story Title: **A Special Relationship of Questionable Identities

**Story Summary: **America and England have a Special Relationship… 'Special,' being the operative word. When Arthur's mythical friends decide to try and save their failing friendship, the two nations wake to realize that they have switched bodies. What will become of these questionable identities, and what will they have to do to return to supposed normalcy?

**Word Count: **15, 169

**Status: **Ongoing chapters

**Warnings: TONS **of swearing. I swear a lot in writing. -_- **Minimal**editing. Also, later, there'll be some, err... Suggestive situations. This story also features a boyXboy pairing. If you don't like that, then this story probably won' t float your boat.

**Rating: T** (for now)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Hetalia in any way, shape, or form. I don't own the characters in this story, despite their OOC-ness in some moments. If I owned Hetalia, I wouldn't be writing fan fiction about it, and I would certainly be the supreme ruler of the Universe. That's right. It's that good.

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**Author's Note: **Hello everyone! Look'it! I've come back for another chapter! Yay! This chapter took a _long _to write for some reason... I can't say I was completely busy, but I just found this one took longer than my other two chapters. Oh well. At least it's here. So I would like to say, once again, thank you for the amazing reviews you guys have been leaving me! They always make me smile, and I always reply to them. Always. **So thank you so much for all your kind words! **Thank you, also to all of the anon reviewers! I luff you guys too, even though I can't reply back to you!! Also, thanks for all the adding of this story to your favourites and alerts! Even though you don't review, I still feel your support. YOU ARE ALL AWESOME!! ;D

And, my friend is _still _on vacation... -_- So she still doesn't know this little fanfic exists. Boo hoo. But I still dedicate this fic to her. Thank you for being one of my best friends! It's also her birthday on August 10th. **Happy Birthday!!** Here's a chapter to celebrate, so read this soon, please!! But... **Onward!!**

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**Chapter Three: I knew we were different, but still!**

**There are major differences in culture between Americans and their British Commonwealth counterparts. 'American English,' is spoken in the United States, Canada, and where America has exerted an influence in the world. 'British English,' is spoken throughout the British Commonwealth, with Canada being the exception. Although part of the Commonwealth, Canadians tend to speak a mixture of American and British English due to that country's proximity to the United States, although they spell the British way.**

**COUNTDOWN: **

**1 Week Until America's Birthday**

_**June 28, 2009 **_

"_You're doing __**what**__ for the next week?"_

"_I'm… Staying at Alfred's house… In America." _

"_Why?! You can't stay in America! You have plenty of work to do over here in Britain. __**You're**__ government needs you, Arthur. You can't keep gallivanting around with Alfred in the US! And what the hell happened to your voice?!" _

CLICK.

Arthur Kirkland heaved a deep sigh of what seemed to be mixed with nervousness, guilt, embarrassment, and _relief. _He had just finished his phone call to one angry, British Prime Minister, Gordon Brown, explaining that he would be… Staying in Alfred's country…

For a week.

Arthur gritted his teeth in obvious dissatisfaction at how the phone call had turned out. For one thing, Arthur's government would do just fine without him. Not only did his Prime Minister have the necessary skills to lead the country, but he also had his Queen, one of the world's most well-known figureheads… _Oh dear Lord, _Arthur thought, sinking down into one of the hospital's many uncomfortable, plastic waiting-chairs. _Maybe my country really __**does**__ need me. _For another thing, Arthur certainly was _not_, 'gallivanting,' around with Alfred. What a disgusting idea. Gallivanting. Gordon had implied that that was something he had done a lot of. And with _Alfred_. That was another disgusting idea. Finally, Brown had called him out on his apparent speech impediment. It wasn't _his_fault that his voice was trying to sound like one certain American's. Arthur was able to keep his British accent in check, but to his deficit, he could clearly hear and _feel _that tiny bit of easiness and casualness that came with an American's voice, seeping into his regular speech. He hated it. He hated Alfred for having it.

"Hey, Iggy!"

Arthur turned his head around to face the young American man before him that didn't look so American anymore. Right. They had switched bodies. How _inconvenient_. "What?" Arthur asked in annoyance. Today was their final day in the hospital as Canada would later be picking them up. What a relief. They had had to stay a little longer because, apparently, Alfred's injuries had been greater. Arthur wondered why. It couldn't have _possibly_ been the notion of Arthur beating the man over the head with a book. No… That would _never_ have been the problem… But one nurse _did _quit her job because of said accusations. Arthur wondered why.

"Do I have to wear this shit?" Alfred asked rather casually.

England sighed. "What's wrong with it?"

"It's a sweater-vest. What's _not_ wrong with it?"

"Look," Arthur said bitterly. "If you don't wear that while you're in my body, then I'll just wear it while I'm in yours. I think you'd look quite charming in a sweater-vest." Of course he had just said that last part to piss the American man off. England would never admit to _anything_ looking, 'charming,' on Alfred…

Thankfully, Alfred cut the Briton's thoughts short. "You are _not_ wearing that stupid thing while you're in _my_ body."

"Well how is it fair that I have to wear _your_ stupid jacket?" Arthur held up said jacket and nonchalantly tossed it on the floor.

Alfred gasped, rushed to his discarded jacket, and clutched it to his chest. "You're terrible!" Alfred cried, and Arthur noted, rather pitifully. The sight of himself clinging desperately to the American's jacket was going to make him sick. Oh how he _hated_ America in his body.

Arthur rolled his eyes as he spotted his olive-green, sweater-vest lying dejectedly on the floor. He picked it up, holding it gingerly between his fingers. Upon holding it up in front of himself, he figured that it would most likely fit over America's body. Arthur was still getting used to the fact that he was marginally larger than he had been before. Damn. _Fat._ Twat. Successfully, Arthur managed to fit the vest over America's chest and smiled at himself in the hospital's dusty mirror. With his tie done up properly, and his dress shirt pristine in its freshness, Arthur had to admit that, for once, Alfred looked presentable. Too bad it took _someone else _being inside Alfred's body to make him dress properly. The Brit turned to face America and this time it was Arthur who wore a smug smile. "There. Now you look like a gent-"

Arthur's smile disappeared, thoroughly, when his eyes took in the sight of Alfred _-himself- _wearing that _stupid_ bomber jacket. The first few buttons of England's white dress-shirt were open and his tie hung limply from his neck, tied in a brutal looking knot. America too, wore a dangerous smile that vanished when he saw Arthur _-himself- _wearing the sweater-vest.

"What the _HELL _are you _WEARING??!!_" Both nations shrieked the same sentence, eyes wide with apparent horror.

"Take that damn jacket off _right this minute_," Arthur said, crossing his arms.

"Well, take of that Fuckin' sweater-thing," Alfred replied, just as stubbornly.

Alfred was the first to make his move, and Arthur regretted putting on that sweater-vest and trying to make Alfred look nice in the first place. In a second, Arthur found himself on the floor of the hospital room fighting to save his shirt, as America attempted to rid Arthur of the controversial sweater-vest. "H-Hey!" Arthur said, in an attempt to crawl out from Alfred's smaller form. Surprisingly enough, he was actually finding it rather difficult. "Get off of me!!"

"Not until you take that damn thing off!" Alfred pulled up on the bottom of the sweater-vest in question and tried pulling it over Arthur's head, much to the Brit's chagrin.

"_Well_… Take. Off. That. Bloody. Jacket!" Arthur moved his hands to that rather sad excuse for a decent leather jacket, and tried to shrug it off of Alfred's shoulders, much to the _American_ man's disdain.

It was when Arthur attempted one of his self-defence movements that things took a turn for the worse. Japan had tried to teach him once and Arthur was sure he could get himself out of _any_ situation involving certain American, or even French, attackers now. So surely when Arthur had grabbed America's arms, pulled them out from under him, and proceeded to try and kick Alfred so that he flipped the man over his own head, things should have worked out. Alfred should have cleared the Brit's head and been clearly outsmarted by the amazing Arthur and his talented self-defence moves… Right? _Right? _Damn gravity. _Damn Japan… _

* * *

Matthew Williams found it to be quite a beautiful day in America. Even though the sky was dusted only a subtle shade of grey, and the temperature was a bitter nine-degrees-Celsius ***** for the current time of late June, the Canadian man found the weather to be better than that of his own country. His summer had been strangely chilly. And wet. He hadn't counted on having so much rain.

As he made his way into the parking-lot of the fairly large American hospital, Matthew narrowly avoided hitting six parked cars, and about ten pedestrians. No matter how many times he had been to the United States, the young man would never get used to American traffic, which was much faster-paced than his own.

Upon parking his car and clambering out of the driver's seat, all American eyes were on him. It wasn't like he had a _reason_ to stand out. He just _did_… Okay, so maybe his unruly hair, his flaming-red hoodie with the white maple-leaf stitched onto the front, and his pet polar-bear, didn't help him any. But _still_… They didn't have to _stare_ like that. Matthew would have to tell Alfred that his people were being rude. That is, if Alfred even remembered who he was… The young man rolled his eyes, and clutched his bear closer to his chest. He didn't even _care_ that animals weren't allowed in American hospitals. Number one: He was _Canadian_. He could do whatever the hell he wanted. Number Two: He was smarter than America, he had better sports than America, _and _he had more land than America. He was the second largest country in the _world! _That had to count for _something! _

So, Matthew made his way up to room 212, where he would find America and England waiting for him. He had been granted the special task of picking up the, 'invalids,' from the hospital. Lucky him. _Not. _Kumajirou was tucked safely back into his car. Back in the parking -lot. Away from the hospital. After all… He didn't want to get in trouble… And that was just how Canadians rolled. He smiled to himself as he made his way up the stairs.

Matthew was glad that the rest of the G8 nations had decided to postpone the meeting, and continue it after America and England were well enough to attend. He had to admit that he had been afraid for his brother and his… Well, Canada didn't really know what England was to him… France was more of his father, so was England his mother? He shook his head. Either way, he was worried. The Canadian had gotten hit in the head with a hockey-puck one too many times, to not take concussions seriously. But after he had gotten the call from Arthur to have him come and pick them up from the hospital, Matthew was relieved. He didn't know what he would have done had they both died… He wasn't sure what the whole _world_ would have done…

Tomorrow, the G8 meeting would commence, with England opening the floor with his political concerns. Matthew always liked hearing Arthur's speeches. Out of all the nations in attendance, England's, Germany's, and possibly Japan's, speeches, were the most rational and well thought out. And that would be tomorrow. Then he could go home… _Finally_. He was itching to spend part of his summer in the heart of Saskatchewan, where he hoped the weather would be warmer. Then it would be his birthday and he could celebrate. He had taken to celebrating with his own people, instead of other nations. No one remembered anyways. At least his _country_ did. And that was just fine!

_**Room 209 **_Matthew was excited to see Alfred and Arthur again. He hadn't seen them since the last time he had visited the hospital with Francis. They had seemed to be feeling better then too.

_**Room 210 **_The Canadian man hoped that Alfred and Arthur liked the flowers he had delivered to their hospital room a few days ago. He had never put his name on them, but he hoped that at least _Arthur_ knew that it was Canada who had sent them the cheery, get-well bouquet.

_**Room 211 **_He hoped Kumajirou was alright in the car, and Matthew wondered if he should have left it running, so the bear could get some air. He could have at _least_ cracked a window… The man could be forgetful sometimes… _It wasn't his fault that he had to go to the bathroom before the G8 meeting started and everyone __**assumed **__that he had been late! _

_**Room 212 **_"Alfred! Arthur! I came to get you guys and I-" Matthew swung the door to room 212 open swiftly, practically flying into the room in all of his anticipation. What he saw when he opened the door, however, was far beyond anything he had ever expected.

Arthur sat on top of Alfred, straddling his waist, his torso dangerously close to the American nation beneath him. Alfred had Arthur's hands in an iron grip, and one knee up to brace both of them in place. Arthur was wearing Alfred's bomber jacket… Well, _half _wearing it, as it was sinking slowly down his arms. The top few buttons on his shirt were suspiciously opened to reveal his upper-chest. Alfred was wearing England's sweater-vest, which had been pulled up to his neck, taking his dress-shirt with it, revealing his sculpted stomach and abs. Both nation's hair was in a state of disarray and their faces were flushed due to an apparent struggle… Canada had never been so embarrassed.

In an instant, everyone's eyes were wide, all noise ceasing completely, to reveal a terribly awkward silence… Matthew spun around so fast his brain didn't even have time to register the fact that he had managed to miss the door completely in his attempts to _get out of there! _With one sickening smack, Canada smashed into the wall beside the door. He heard his glasses noisily snap, and for a second, he thought he had broken his nose as well. Not only did Matthew not _care_ about his broken glasses and nose, but he needed to get away from there… _Fast!_

"Mattie!"

The Canadian man stopped in his tracks and turned around slowly. Arthur was now standing up with the cheesiest grin plastered on his face. Alfred had backed thoroughly up against the wall of his room, his eyes still comparable to the size of baseballs, and the colour of his face equitable that of the Canadian's hoodie. Arthur walked forward and patted Matthew hard on the shoulder. "You'll understand when you're older." Then he proceeded to walk down the hall of the hospital with Alfred's bomber jacket casually slung over his shoulder. "You guys comin', or what?"

Matthew looked back at Alfred, who stood up rather slowly, straightening his outfit, and fixing his tie. The Canadian man raised an eyebrow when he noted that the American _wasn't _wearing his signature glasses. Now that he recalled, _Arthur_ had been wearing them… Maybe these two had hit their heads harder than he originally thought. Alfred smiled sheepishly up at his brother and patted him, lightly, on the same shoulder. "Don't ever turn out like your brother," was all he said.

"Huh?" But both men were too far down the hallway to notice the perplexed Canadian standing just outside the hospital room. As he was about to follow them, Matthew noted that they never bothered to take the flowers that he had bought for them. Grumbling, Matthew grabbed the vase holding said flowers, and held them carefully in his hands. "Whatever," Matthew said smugly to himself. "I'll just throw these out." He scoffed. "Because Canadians don't care about _flowers_!" As he walked further down the hall, he glanced down at flowers again, passing every garbage-can he had run across. "But they _would _look good in my house…" He decided to keep them… And that was just how Canadians rolled.

* * *

The ride home had been awkward, to say the least, and Arthur heaved a sigh of relief when his former colony, Canada, had finally dropped them off at Alfred's house, where they would be staying together. Matthew had politely declined their offer to stay for coffee and tea, and promptly sped away after his passengers were safely out of his vehicle. Arthur never even had a chance to say goodbye. The Canadian had been babbling something about how he had somewhere, _anywhere_, to be but there; something about France, and sweater-vests, and awkward situations. Poor Matthew… He always seemed to be in the wrong places at the wrong times.

Now, America and England sat in the middle of Alfred's seemingly spacious living-room in a sort of forced silence. Arthur was mad at Alfred, for one. Well, when was he ever _not_ mad at Alfred? Arthur sat on Alfred's sofa with a sort of bemused look on his face, as he scanned the latest headlines of America's newspaper. Of course it mentioned that the G8 meeting had been moved. But it didn't say why… Thank _God. _He sat sipping from a mug of hot tea, which he had had to pack himself, God forbid Alfred should even _think _of keeping any in his more than filthy house.

Alfred sat across from him, on a smaller easy-chair, with one leg crossed over the other, arms folded in clear discontent. His face bore a look of obvious annoyance, which Arthur thought, he had no right to wear. If anyone should be annoyed here, it shouldn't be _Alfred. _

"What are you being so pissy about?" Arthur asked firmly, setting down his newspaper.

"I'm not," Alfred said. "You are."

"I most certainly am not. But out of the two of us, I think _I _deserve to be the pissy one."

Alfred stifled an obvious laugh and Arthur rolled his eyes. "You did a good job of thoroughly making me look like a creep in front of your younger brother."

"Matthew? Oh, you're still mad that I made it look like you were molesting me!" Alfred exclaimed. "Nah. He's fine. He's probably more perverted than both of us combined."

"What?" Arthur asked, mildly amused.

"You can't be raised be _Francis _and not be at least a little bit sick-minded," Alfred said, smiling.

Arthur rolled his eyes again, but he knew Alfred was right. He just preferred not to think about it. What else did one do on a cold Canadian night with little but a blanket and another person's body heat to keep them warm… "I don't want to think about!" Arthur said suddenly, sitting up in his chair.

There was another minute of silence before Arthur spoke again. "The G8 meeting is tomorrow."

Alfred nodded. "Yeah."

"Do you think that you can be me… And _not_ look like an idiot?" Arthur asked, fearing the answer.

"Of course," Alfred said. "Heroes can do anything!" He stood up, suddenly. "Besides, how hard is it to act like _you_. Being British is easy. All I have to do is act like an old, crusty, kill-joy."

"A wha-?" But Arthur was cut off.

"It's _you_ who couldn't act like _me_," Alfred said, sticking his nose up in the air. "You couldn't possibly be awesome. In fact, you couldn't even _fake_ it!"

Arthur stood up too. "I beg to differ," he said stiffly. "I can so be… A-Awesome."

"You can't even _say_, 'awesome.'"

"Okay," Arthur said, ignoring Alfred's snide comments. "How about I teach you how to act British, and you teach me how to act like a hick. I mean, an American."

"'Kay," Alfred said, sitting down. "But I don't think awesomeness can be taught."

"We'll see," Arthur replied, glancing around the room. "Do you have any alcohol? Like, _**any **_alcohol?"

"Nope."

"Damn, Yank." Arthur sat back down on his chair. Hard. Who the hell _didn't_ have any alcohol in their house? Because, surely, that was the _only_ thing that could get Arthur through _any_ type of lessons involving his and the American's culture. Surely…

**The 5 Steps to Becoming the Perfect British Nation: **

**Step 1)** _**The Hair** _(Yes, this includes the eyebrows):

Alfred had never used a hairbrush before, and it showed. He also didn't know how to properly wear a tie, or a sweater-vest, or a blazer, or dress-pants, or… The list was practically endless.

Alfred sat sulking on his own sofa, legs parted, and arms crossed in pure dissatisfaction. Arthur stood behind him, on the other side of the sofa, gently running a brush through the younger nation's hair. "I don't need you showing me how to brush my hair, England. I'm not a baby."

England scoffed. "You know very well that if I didn't brush your hair, you'd never do it. Besides, doesn't this remind you of old times?"

"Yeah. It does… And it's making me nauseous," Alfred grumbled, stubbornly.

Arthur sighed. "You're also in _my_ body. You have to look good… See? Part your hair here… And while you're at it…" Arthur gently swept the brush down over Alfred's thick eyebrows. What did people expect?

Alfred blinked and whipped his head around. "You have to _brush_ them?!"

This lesson ended in Arthur lying on the floor with a hairbrush upside his head.

**Step 2) **_**The Outfit** _(This is were the sweater-vest comes in)

"It's all about class," Arthur said simply. "If you'd wear it, stay away from it. Get it?"

Alfred frowned as he stood in front of the mirror hanging on the door of his closet. Arthur had only brought a small supply of clothes with him to America. He hadn't expected on staying… So long. _And _in the other nation's body…

"So," Arthur said, clapping his hands. "Pick something to wear, and we'll see if you were actually paying attention to what I've been saying." The Briton turned around and closed his eyes. After what had seemed like forever, Alfred finally tapped him on the shoulder. Arthur turned around, and his smile disappeared.

Alfred flashed one of his infamous grins, which looked _shockingly_ out of place on Arthur's face, as he stood in an outfit that should have died with the _**seventies**_. Alfred was clad in the _tightest_ leather pants that Arthur had ever seen, a ripped coloured shirt with the name of a British band plastered on the front that he didn't even remember anymore, a leather jacket with all sorts of spikes, straps, and stitches, and those _**boots**_… Arthur thought he had gotten rid of those…

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU _WEARING?!_"Arthur shrieked.

"What?" Alfred asked innocently, striking some sort of westernized rock-pose. "You used to wear this all the time!"

"_Used_ to, America! _Used_ to!!" Arthur stopped. _"And why the __**hell **__do you have my clothes in your closet??!!"_

**Step 3) **_**The Etiquette** _(Good luck.)

"Sit up straight! Don't slouch like that! Head up! Uncross your arms! Stop fidgeting! And for God's sakes, would it kill you to at least _look _bloody interested in something?!"

Alfred sat on the sofa again, leaning deeply into the cushions, his back curving lazily inward. He kept his head leaned back, and his arms were folded across his chest. He tapped his foot anxiously and grumbled out a, "Aww, Arthur. This is boring. I _know_ how to act civilized."

England rolled his eyes. "Prove it then… Or are you not a _hero_?"

In an instant, Alfred was sitting up straighter than one of his damn flag poles, his knees carved at a perfect ninety degree angle. His hands were sitting subtly in his lap, and his head was facing forward, cocking slightly to the side to peer at England. "You were saying?" America asked coyly, letting of the most unsubstantial smiles that Arthur had ever seen.

"Shut up." And that was all Arthur could come up with. Maybe Alfred _was_ a bloody, 'hero,' after all.

**Step 4) **_**The Speech** _(It's all in the accent…)

"I'm not saying any of those stupid British words you say."

"I don't say anything, 'stupid.' For your information, you're the one who speaks… Backwards."

Arthur sighed. Teaching Alfred the depths of his own vocabulary would be the hardest hurdle to jump. Teaching Alfred the whole English dictionary was one thing, but teaching it to him in a _British accent_, was another.

"You always say things like _wanker_and _bloody_," Alfred said, in the worst British accent Arthur had ever heard. "And _git_… What the _hell_ does that even _mean?_"

"It means-" Arthur began, but Alfred cut him off.

"And why do you even speak in that annoying little accent? Out of all the nation's accents, you have the most _annoying_ one!" Alfred rambled on some more, making a complete mockery out of the entire English language.

Arthur stood up from the chair, opposite America. Alfred sat up, putting up his guard, as England moved to face him. "You're a _sodding wanker_," the Briton said, forcibly punching Alfred in the stomach.

"Jesus, Arthur! You son of a bitch!" Alfred stood up, only to be punched again by England.

"_Bloody prat_," Arthur said calmly.

"J-Jerk," Alfred retaliated.

"_Twat_." Another punch from England.

"Loser."

"_Yank_."

"Bastard."

"_Git_."

Apparently, Alfred was close to his breaking point, because when Arthur gave him one last brutal shove, Alfred let out a string of British curses. In an accent. "Would you stop _bloody_, pushing me, you _sodding git_-faced, _prat_!"

"Better," Arthur said, sitting down again, leaving Alfred, standing now, breathless.

"Fuck you," Alfred replied.

Arthur smiled. "Perfect."

**Step 5) **_**The Knowledge** _(For a former colony of Britain, America doesn't know _shit!_)

"Who was the longest reigning British Monarch?" Arthur asked, sipping from his tea while Arthur slammed back another cup of coffee. It was one o'clock in the morning now. Arthur was surprised he wasn't tired.

Alfred groaned. "I don't know… Why should I even care? I'm sure not even _you _know that…"

Arthur set his tea-cup down on the coffee-table and sighed inwardly. "Queen Victoria was our longest reigning monarch, and she ruled over Britain for sixty-three years."

"So?" Alfred grumbled. "Can I go to bed now?"

"No," Arthur snapped. "And you _have_ to know my history. What if someone asks you about it? _I'd_ know! It would look strange if I didn't know about my own damn country!"

Alfred sighed. "No offence, England, but I don't think anyone's gonna ask about your history…"

"As a matter of fact," Arthur replied curtly. "My history is _very_ fascinating. And besides, I know all about _your_ history. It's time you learnt about mine."

"Of course you know all about my history… You were there!" Alfred crossed his arms, and put his feet noisily on the table in front of him.

Arthur gave one good laugh. "That's the sad part," he said. "You were there too. Not even _you_ know your own damn history."

Alfred scoffed. "Fine," he said. "If you know so much, who was my 22nd President?"

Arthur stood up, carrying his empty teacup to the kitchen. "Do you want some coffee, Alfred?"

"You're changing the subject!" Alfred called after him.

"No I'm not!" Arthur laughed. "Coffee? Yes? No?"

Alfred wore an amused smile as Arthur came back into the living-room with two cups in his hands. One was full of tea, and the other was full of coffee. "It was Cleveland," Alfred said. "Stephen Grover Cleveland."

Arthur sat down again. "That's what I was _going_ to say. You just didn't give me enough time to answer."

Alfred laughed. "Right," he said, rolling his eyes.

Arthur smiled feebly. Of course he knew who America's 22nd President was. He also knew who America's 11th President was. And the 26th. He knew the exact date and time that Alfred had entered into both World Wars. He could list, in great detail, the events of America's Civil War, the Cold-War, and the Gulf-War. In fact, Arthur paid _too_ much attention to his former colony. Something he would _never_ admit. So he laughed instead. "You're right," the Englishman said. "I really _don't_ know everything about your history."

Alfred smiled, taking a sip of hot coffee. "Yup," he said. "Just like how I _don't_ know everything about _your_ history." Sarcasm? Then he winked, like some sort of unspoken secret had been revealed between the two of them; like Alfred really _did_ have some sort of hidden knowledge of British history…

And Arthur had never felt so proud of the American. He also had this overwhelming feeling to throw his hot tea in Alfred's face. But for the moment, he ignored both feelings. Because knowledge was dangerous. Especially when it came to America.

"Now," Alfred said slowly. "Let me teach you how to be an American."

**The 5 Steps to Becoming the Perfect American Nation: **

**Step 1) **_**The Hair** _(No brush necessary.)

"Nantucket stays the way it is. Don't fuck with it."

Arthur nodded, and Alfred had no more advice.

**Step 2) **_**The Outfit** _(NO SWEATER-VESTS)

"You have to wear this. At all times." Alfred handed Arthur that bloody bomber-jacket. The very bomber-jacket that England _despised_. Now he was being forced to _wear_ it… "Don't spill anything on it. Don't leave it anywhere. Don't even _think_ about damaging it. Don't let anyone touch it. Don't let anyone _look_ at it the wrong way…"

Arthur smirked. "So this is some kind of _privilege_? So I'm special enough to wear it?"

Alfred scoffed. "Don't kid yourself! If you weren't me, you'd _never_ get to wear it. _Ever_."

"Good," Arthur said stubbornly. "I wouldn't have wanted to wear it anyway."

**Step 3) **_**The Etiquette** _(American-style)

"There is none," Alfred said simply.

Arthur blinked. "Apparently. But do you have a reason as to why not?" He already regretted asking.

"BECAUSE AMERICA IS FUCKIN' AWESOME!!"

Arthur buried his face in his hands. Where did those confetti pieces and American flags come from? And were those… Sparkles?

**Step 4) **_**The Speech** _("Why the hell do you still have that accent?")

"Ow. _Ow!! _What in the _blazes_ are you _doing?!_" Arthur was trying to think of a plausible explanation as to why there was a very pissed off American man pummelling him into the ground.

"I'm beating the crap out of you," Alfred said simply.

"_Why?!_"

"I'm trying to beat that _stupid_British accent outtta, 'me,'" Alfred replied, delivering another decent blow to Arthur's stomach.

"Shit! You can't _beat_ an accent out of someone!!" Arthur cried, just short of curling up into some bizarre fetal-position. "Stop it!"

"Say that in American, and I'll think about it."

"_Ahhh!!_"

England's strange beating only lasted another fifteen minutes, and Alfred was able to prove that one could, indeed, beat an accent out of someone… Thoroughly.

**Step 5) **_**The Knowledge** _

Arthur answered every question Alfred threw at him, wrong. And they both knew why. (See Step 5: The 5 Steps to Becoming the Perfect British Nation)

* * *

The next day, Arthur Kirkland and Alfred F. Jones, stood in front of the building used to host this particular G8 meeting. All of the group's nations would be present for round two of debates and discussions; of political exercises and economical planning. And Arthur was opening the floor. Only, it wasn't Arthur. It was Alfred. In _his _body…

Alfred -mock England- stood tall, his head up and his hands on his hips, as he stared at all of their nation's flags, the wind playing gently with their fabric. He wore one of his older suits, which seemed to fit Arthur's body perfectly. He had Arthur's speech in his hands, as it was safely nestled in its leather folder. His hair was actually brushed and his eyebrows were combed neatly into place. He wasn't wearing his glasses, but settled for contacts instead. Apparently, he had taken his poor vision with him when the two nations switched bodies.

Arthur -mock America- stood beside his British-self, and crossed his arms. Of course he wore a suite, which was recommended for such a meeting, but he also wore that bomber-jacket, that was so much a part of America's culture. Nantucket was sticking upright, like it should be, and he had glasses resting on the end of his nose. Of course they were fake. Arthur's vision was perfect, but the effect had to be that of Alfred's blindness. For once, Arthur even wore a smile. It was Alfred's smile, but Arthur did his best to do it justice.

The men turned to each other and firmly grasped each other's hands. "Good luck," Alfred said, shaking it firmly.

Arthur smiled, and took Alfred's hand, in both of his, and shook it gingerly. "Yes," he said. "You too." He released his grip on Alfred's hand, and was about to turn away, when Alfred's voice caught his attention.

"Hey!" Alfred said, raising both of his hands up in the air, his speech held tightly between his thighs. "High-five."

Arthur rolled his eyes, but his smile never ceased to leave his face. "Do your best," he said, clapping Arthur's hands with his own.

"I will! Now, get going you _bloody git_!" Alfred smiled after he had said the words in a _very_ British tone of voice.

"Yeah, yeah," Arthur said, rolling his eyes again teasingly. He gave Alfred one last smile, before turning around and walking into the building through the East door. Alfred waved and continued on to the West Door. Because it was easier not to be seen together. And it was _definitely_ easier to be separated…

Arthur looked behind him and was surprised to find that he was alone again, in front of the building decorated in flags, each one, seemingly mocking his own existence. He had been fine alone before, so why was it so different now? He was definitely not getting attached to that senseless American prat… And he was _definitely_ not missing him… Already.

Damn _Alfred_. Damn _being in America's body_. Damn _faeries_and _gnomes_and _**unicorns**_. Damn _G8 meetings_. Damn _Canada _for thinking the wrong things. But most of all, damn… Arthur. For having these feelings that made him feel bloody… Stupid. And hurt. _And _lonely. Again. Maybe he was getting too old for all this shit. No. Scratch that. He was _definitely_ too old for this shit… Damn _age_, then. Now, Arthur was sure he was running out of things to damn.

* * *

**Author's Note (Again):**Gah! So??? Whatcha' think? **Sorry it was long!** I really want to hear your opinion on this one! Don't worry, the plot will pick up after this chapter! ;D And no, there weren't any evil faeries in this one. Although, I miss them guys. TTnTT Also, I put Canada in here! And I kind of made him stereotypical Canada with a twist? Of course, Canada wants to be loved, but he also wants to be cool like his brother. Yet, whenever he tries to be bad-ass, he just can't. Because he's Canada. **I mean no offence to any Canadians, Americans, or British people.** I myself, am Canadian, and I love Britian to death, as with America. So I am just being blunt and stereotypical with everything they say and do. Some of the things could be wrong, but I don't really care all that much. I'm just havin' fun, and I hope you will too! (I also don't take credit for the above, 'fact,' at the beginning. I got that information from a neat website, so I don't claim that as my own!)

Also, I am **going to an anime convention tomorrow** for four days, so I won't be able to update, or even work on chapter four. I will try my best to reply to all the reviewers! But don't worry, I will **DEFINITELY** reply. So please, **read and review! **

***** _About fourty-eight degrees Fahrenheit_

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	4. Top ten ways to ruin Arthur Kirkland

**Story Title: **A Special Relationship of Questionable Identities

**Story Summary: **America and England have a Special Relationship… 'Special,' being the operative word. When Arthur's mythical friends decide to try and save their failing friendship, the two nations wake to realize that they have switched bodies. What will become of these questionable identities, and what will they have to do to return to supposed normalcy?

**Word Count: **21, 271

**Status: **Ongoing chapters

**Warnings: TONS **of swearing. I swear a lot in writing. -_- **MINIMAL EDITING**. Also, later, there'll be some, err... Suggestive situations (like in this chapter). This story also features a boyXboy pairing. If you don't like that, then this story probably won' t float your boat.

**Rating: T+**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Hetalia in any way, shape, or form. I don't own the characters in this story, despite their OOC-ness in some moments. If I owned Hetalia, I wouldn't be writing fan fiction about it, and I would certainly be the supreme ruler of the Universe. That's right. It's that good.

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**Author's Note: **FINALLY!! I've updated this thing!! Haha! *Is really happy about that* But seriously, don't you think it's about time? I am so, unbelievably sorry about that! You have no idea, how hard I worked to get this done! n As I mentioned last time, I was away at an anime convention, and I must say, that I had one of the best times of my entire life. Everyone there was just great and I began to appreciate who I am, instead of who others want me to be -insert random sap here- But, thanks to everyone who wished me a good time, because I certainly had one! :D

AND THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE REVIEWS!!! A lot of them made me giggle. I read most of them on the way to the convention, on my phone, and my friends were wondering why I was cracking up. XD Regardless, every one of them made me smile. They all still do, and I still REPLY TO EVERY ONE OF THEM!!! Haha! But thank you so much! You have no idea how happy and warm that makes me feel inside! TTnTT So please, make a girl happy, by reviewing on this chapter! This one is a little more serious, if you will. XD

And my friend finally read part of this… Wow… Took freakin' long enough. She still isn't done yet, so what the hell? How can you take a break? Haha. Just kidding. And she's still Alfred, no matter what she tells you. ;D But, enough of my ranting. On with chapter four!!

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**Chapter Four: Top ten ways to ruin Arthur Kirkland**

"**Forgiving does not erase the bitter past. A healed memory is not a deleted memory. Instead, forgiving what we cannot forget creates a new way to remember. We change the memory of our past into a hope for our future."**

**_-Lewis B. Smedes_ **

**COUNTDOWN: **

**Six Days Until America's Birthday**

_**June 29, 2009 **_

_**Child!America and England… **_

_**Once Upon a Time… One day. **_

"_England! Hey, England!"_

"_Hm?" _

"_Look what I found! Look!" _

"_Is that a rabbit? Alfred, you shouldn't play with things like that." _

"_B-But, it's my new pet! I named him and everything!" _

"_I see… What did you name him then?" _

"_I named him Arthur!" _

"_Hah! Is there any reason for naming him __**that**__ particular name?" _

"_There sure is! That's your name!" _

"… _Well, thank you Alfred… That's… Sweet." _

"_I knew you'd like it! I'm going outside to play with him!" _

"_Alright, Alfred. Don't be long." _

_*******_

_**Once Upon a Time… Later that day. **_

"_**ENGLAND!!!**__" _

"_**Yes??!! **__Alfred… Don't scare me like that! What's the matter?" _

"_I can't find Arthur! I think I lost him!!" _

"_Oh, Alfred. Don't cry. We'll find him tomorrow. It's beginning to rain now. I told you that keeping a rabbit as a pet wasn't a good idea…" _

"_B-But h-he'll get sick if he's outside! What if something bad happens to him!! … __**I'm going to go look for him!" **_

"_Alfred." _

"_Let go! I'm going to find him!!" _

"_I'll go. You wait here and warm up. I'll be back with… Arthur. I promise." _

"_Really?! You'd do that England?" _

"_Of course. I'd do anything for you." _

_*******_

_**Once Upon a Time… That night.**_

"_England?" _

"_I'm back Alfred… Ahh… I need to sit down." _

"_You've been gone for three hours!! Are you okay? You're all dirty and wet! Are you hurt? I can try and make tea!" _

"_Settle down, Alfred. I'm fine. I have something for you." _

"_**Arthur!! **__You found him! Where was he?!" _

"_Heh. Alfred don't squeeze him too hard! I found him hiding down by the stream. He was hiding under the rocks. The rain sure is heavy tonight… Alfred… Why are you crying?" _

"_Y-You're the best England! I really do mean t-that! Y-You said that you'd do anything for me… And you meant it!!" _

"_Heh. I'll always mean that, Alfred. Now. Run along to bed. It's late. You and Arthur look tired." _

"_Mm. Okay! Goodnight England." _

"_Goodnight Alfred." _

"_Oh… And England?" _

"_Yes?" _

"_I love you!" _

"… _Hah. Goodnight Alfred." _

"'_Night." _

_*******_

_**Once Upon a Time… The next day. **_

"_**ENGLAND!!!!!!**__" _

"_Alfred?! What is it? What's wrong?!" _

"_I lost Arthur again!!!" _

"… _Jeeze Alfred. Why are you always losing things?" _

"_Because I know that you'll always be there to find them for me!" _

"… _We better go look for him then…" _

"_Yay!" _

_*******_

"_**ENGLAND!!!!**__" _It was a harsh whisper, but it was loud enough to catch Arthur Kirkland's attention as he whipped his head severely to his right, snapping out of his current daydream.

"What?!" Arthur asked bluntly, staring straight into a pair of worried looking green eyes, shrouded by a pair of distinctive dark eyebrows. The physical face was that of his own, but the expression was completely American.

"I lost it."

"You lost _what?_" Arthur knew that the answer was going to be much worse than a, _'I lost my bunny.'_

"Your speech."

Oh… It was worse alright. It was much worse. "America!" Arthur whispered fiercely, but much to Arthur's dismay, its ferociousness held strong, whiny undertones of disappointment and disapproval. "We've only been at the meeting for half an hour! How do you lose something like that in a span of thirty minutes? You know what? Don't answer that!"

Arthur was trying to play it cool, despite the fact that he was _beyond_ worried. His brain had gone into some sort of stroke-mode, and he couldn't think properly. That speech was more important than _anything _at the moment. England's reputation as a _nation_ depended on that speech. His boss had looked over that speech hundreds of times for him, trying to get every tiny detail just perfect. Arthur would then deliver that speech to a group of the world's top nations and discuss their implications. His dignity was riding on that speech. His sanity was riding on that speech. Heck, his _life_ was riding on that speech. And now it was gone. _Gone! _All because of…

"Alfred! Have you tried looking for it?"

"The meeting's gonna to start soon! I don't think I'll have time! For all I know, someone could have thrown it in the garbage!"

Arthur groaned, rather loudly. "America… Of all the times you have to do something stupid, why does it have to be _this_ time?" Arthur had his head in his hands, as his elbows practically dug holes into the glass surface of the table-top, to be used for round two of today's G8 meeting.

"I've got it!" America exclaimed as Japan and Italy entered the room. He lowered his voice as the two nations took their respective seats. "I'll just make it up off the top of my head!"

"No!" England said, a little too loudly. Japan turned to look at them, and Arthur softened his voice. "You can't do that! Do you have any clue as to how crazy that idea is?" Russia entered the room next, followed by Germany and France. Arthur already knew that Canada would be late… Or in the bathroom. One of the two.

Alfred patted Arthur on the back and walked back to his seat. England felt like crying in agony. _Why? _Why did this have to happen to him? First he found out that he had switched bodies with _America_. Then he finds out that his speech is… _Gone! _Not only is Alfred going to _completely_ destroy his well-respected, British viewpoint, but he's also going to completely _Americanize_ the crap. So much for his ideas on foreign policy and economical stimulation plans. He could practically _see_ his speech dripping in hamburger grease and painted up in stars and stripes. Sure that was fine for _Alfred's_ speeches, but for Arthur's--- People actually _listened _to him, for the most part, and took a general interest in what he had to say. Now, Alfred was going to corrupt all of their minds with his shit… In _Arthur's_ body… "No…" Arthur groaned out loud.

"Alfred, mon ami Américain, are you feeling unwell this morning?" Of course it had to be France. Who else? Damn frog.

"I'm perfectly fine," England said curtly, then, remembering that he was actually supposed to act like Alfred, changed his attitude. "I _am_ a hero after all! I didn't get much sleep last night! But s'okay! I had breakfast at McDonalds!" He ended his statement with a quick, 'thumbs-up,' sign.

France smiled, winked at the younger nation, and then turned back to his papers. England breathed a sigh of relief. He had no idea how Alfred acted so… Chipper all of the time. It was downright annoying. And exhausting. He was _already_ tired and it was only the beginning of the day.

Suddenly, Canada burst through the doors of the meeting room in a rushed manner. The only thing England saw was a rapid blur of black and yellow, as the blonde-haired Canadian, wearing his darkest suit, sat next to him in a clumsy frenzy. "Sorry I'm late, everyone!" He exclaimed nervously, rubbing the back of his head anxiously with his hand. "I hope I didn't miss much of the meeting!"

"Matthieu! You're not late today! What a pleasant surprise~" France smiled at his former-_former_ colony.

Matthew blinked. "I'm not late?" He paused. "Of course I'm not late! I'm _never_ late!"

Arthur cocked his head to the side. He had to agree with Francis on this one. It _was_ surprising that Canada wasn't late for the meeting. He was _always_ late. That meant that Canada had come in earlier. Matthew. There was always something about Canada that England didn't quite understand…

"Anyways," Germany cut in, clearly annoyed now. "Is it time for America to start the meeting? After all, he _is_ this year's host." Everyone listened when Germany spoke. This included England, and he stood up, as America, to welcome everyone to the meeting. For a minute, he struggled for words to say.

"Hey everybody! I hope you've been having an _awesome_ time in America and I'm really sorry for holding everyone up in this meeting after I bashed Arthur's skull into the table. Needless to say, the same thing happened to me too! Thank God I'm a hero though, right?" Arthur flashed one of America's smiles and he saw a couple of nations relax a little. This was good. So far, he was getting this right. "So, let's get on with this meeting so we can go for McDonalds during lunch!"

A few countries groaned and made disgusted faces, and Arthur heard Italy say, "Do they have pasta there?"

Arthur took a breath before commencing on his next words. "I guess we'll start today's meeting with England's concerns. Arthur? Try not to make this about tea or anything British like that. We all know that fish and chips won't save our global economy. Only I can do that with my awesomeness!" France tugged on his bomber jacket harshly, and Arthur fell back into his chair. He gave one long look at Alfred, his face clearly displaying a message of, _'Don't __**fuck**__ this up.'_

**Arthur Kirkland's Top 10 List**

_**Top 10 things to NOT do at a G8 meeting… In an Englishman's body. **_

_**10. Do not speak in an American accent. A Boston one, no less.**_

Alfred stood up slowly, unsure of himself, and England bit his tongue in anxiety. His own stomach was doing flip-flops and he could only imagine what _America's_ was doing. Soon, Alfred stood before his fellow nations in England's body. He cleared his throat, and began to speak. In an American accent. And it was sounding terribly Boston today. "First of all, I'd just like ta say, that I'm sah-ry for hurtin' America the otha' day. I was just bein' a pissy little douche. So, sah-ry for extendin' this meetin' long-ah than it should be."

_Oh God… _America only used his _Boston_ accent when he was nervous about something. And by the sounds of it, he was _**very**_ nervous. America was _**never**_ nervous. Why was he anxious _today?! _So Arthur did the only thing he knew how to do. He coughed twice, stuffing the words, "Sound bloody British Alfred," in between. He didn't think any of the other countries were paying enough attention to him.

"R-Right," Alfred said, pronouncing his, 'igh,' just perfectly in a British accent. Arthur looked up to the ceiling and praised whatever being that was watching over him at that moment. Yet, Arthur _knew_ that Alfred was struggling for ideas on what to bring up next. Arthur could tell that Alfred was racking his small brain trying to come up with a world crisis to, 'Britainize.'

Arthur coughed again, to get Alfred's attention. When green eyes met blue, Arthur began flipping an American penny he found in the pocket of Alfred's bomber jacket, up in the air, with his fingers, each time, catching it was a swift ease. The economy. Alfred nodded in understanding.

_**9. Do not refer to the global economy as being in the, "shit-hole…" Even if it **__**is**__** in one. **_

"So," Alfred began again in his same, badly pronounced British accent. "As we all know, our economy is in the bloody shit-hole, right?"

Arthur's eyes widened. Alfred did _not_ just use the word, 'shit-hole,' in regards to a serious economic problem. Oh but he did. And he would say a _lot_ more before his time was up too.

Alfred casually pulled a chair out in front of him, and theatrically put his leg up on its seat. "Like I said, economically, we're all toast. Seriously. There is no hope for us here! Who are we even trying to kid? There's nothing left to try! Eventually, we're all going to die, our children are all going to die, and we'll all be tossed into the furnace where our ashes'll make some guy wonder if that was really pepper on his steak. Because clearly, no one will be able to afford a proper funeral, or a _casket_ for that matter."

Japan cleared his throat.

"Yes, Japan? Do you have a question about my ingenious thoughts? Because if you don't, I'd like to continue." Alfred smiled and Japan blinked, backing off. "Thank you Kiku." He paused, and turned back to the table. "Anyways, as I was saying, I personally think that if we all just cut the shit and stop relying on these damn stocks and the value of our money, then we can just _get out of debt_. Who the hell is telling us that we're in trouble? God isn't, that's for sure. So who is it? It's us! Let's just smarten up and say, 'It's all fixed now!' Sounds good, eh?"

Arthur had his head down on the table and he was passed the point of caring whether or not anyone saw him. Oh God… This couldn't possibly get any worse. Alfred wasn't even making sense anymore! What was that about pepper and dead bodies? Alfred was going to _wish_ he was pepper on that damn steak by the time England was finished beating the crap out of him.

_**8. Do not try to make England look like a hero… An American hero. **_

England chanced a glance upwards, expecting to see a bunch of disapproving nations shaking their heads and huffing in disbelief. What he saw however, took his breath away and he nearly choked in his asphyxiation. Germany and Japan were nodding to one another in complete and total agreement. France had an amused look on his face, and Russia was smiling in an estranged understanding. Italy was actually paying attention. _What?! _

"England's right!" Japan exclaimed. "Let's just forget about all this global recession nonsense!"

"Oui," Francis said in response. "Our _Angleterre_ is right, for once. God does not control our economy. We do."

"Let's just wipe the entire slate clean," Germany said calmly. "No more debt for anyone. If we created it, we can certainly erase it."

"_WHAT???_" England interrupted. "You can't be serious, you guys! That's i-impossible! Even for us! Surely we can't just _erase_ our problems here!"

"America~" Francis purred. "What has gotten into you today? I was sure that out of everyone in this room, you'd be the one to agree with Arthur the quickest. And not only because you're screwing our _Angleterre_ when no one is around…"

"I-Id never agree with that… Brash… _Idiot! _AND I AM NOT _SCREWING_ HIM!!!!" Arthur was just short of standing up and giving France a good English beating, when America interrupted their spat.

"If I could please continue, that would be great," Alfred said adding a cocky little laugh to the end.

England settled back into his seat, putting his feet up on the top of the table. "Oh, sure," Arthur said, rolling his eyes. "Please continue. I wouldn't want to miss another moment of you making a complete ass out of myself… I mean, _yourself_, of course. Pardon me. I'm a stupid American!"

_**7. Do not threaten to destroy the world… With the use of Sealand as a base camp. **_

America, doing a fine job of ignoring all of England's snide comments, launched back onto another topic. The environment. Arthur had to draw America's attention to _that_ subject by pointing out the window a lot. Finally he understood. Too bad the next words out of his mouth were uneducated ones.

"I say," Alfred said now one hundred percent full of himself. "We just junk the whole thing."

All of the nation's eyes went wide, except for maybe Russia, who just gave one, short laugh, like he had already considered the idea… Many times.

"What I'm saying is, instead of trying to _save_ our environment, and waste money on all this, 'good-for-the-earth-shit,' let's just start over… On a different planet! We blow up the earth and move to let's say… Uranus!"

France was the only one who laughed at Alfred's choice in planet, and Arthur's head was on the table again.

"So… We just completely disregard the fact that all of our countries would be destroyed and move to outer space." It was Germany's turn to voice his opinions, and he was not amused. "Have you completely overlooked the fact that if we blew up our planet, we couldn't even launch a rocket?"

Arthur sighed. Leave it to Germany to actually take the proposition seriously.

"That's why we launch the rocket from Sealand! It's not even a real country! So therefore, if we blow up all of our countries, Sealand can't explode because it technically doesn't exist!" Alfred was smiling in England's body, making the Briton look increasingly dim-witted.

Arthur sat up straight then. "Are you done yet, _Arthur? _It smells like shit in here, and I regret to say that it's coming for your damned mouth!" Of course Sealand existed. He wasn't a country, however. He would NEVER be a country. And Arthur was just glad that he wasn't at the meeting to see it go wrong.

_**6. Do not refer to Germany and Italy as, 'gay lovers,' when they're sitting right there. **_

"I think, Arthur, that you're done here," Germany said coolly, as he began to shuffle his papers. "Can we just move on to what's-his-name, and then be done with this?"

"I-It's Canada and-"

But Alfred cut his brother off. "I think," he said evenly. "That you just want to get outtta here so you can go and have some Italian pasta, if you know what I mean."

Arthur's eyes were wide. Alfred _didn't_ say what he though he just said, right? No. Never… So why was he still _talking?! _

"It's fine though," Alfred said smugly. "I know you have a patience issue and an intense sex-drive, but don't you think my concerns are more important here?"

Germany was seething. Arthur hadn't seen him so angry since both World Wars… He was visibly shaking as he tried to control his temper, holding onto the edge of the table for support, as if contemplating whether or not to flip it over. "I. AM. NOT. IN. ANY. SORT. OF. RELATIONSHIP. WITH… WITH… _THAT!!!_"He ended his statement by throwing his finger in Italy's direction.

"It's okay, Germany!" Italy said with that stupid, far-away, look on his face. "We don't have to hide it!"

It was safe to say that Germany, England, and everyone else in the room, besides, Italy and France, were clearly embarrassed.

_**5. Do NOT annoy Russia. Seriously.**_

"Ah… England, can you please stop touching my shoulder?"

Arthur peered at Alfred from across the table as the younger man was clearly invading Russia's personal space by repeatedly tapping him on the arm and giving him pats of appreciation on the shoulder. The sad part was, that America didn't even know he was bothering Ivan. And Russia got bothered by stupid shit easily. Especially, when his boundaries were subsequently assaulted…

"As I was saying… There's that small teen-tiny problem that's going on in the Middle East… And it's not like it affects me really, but still…"

"A-Arthur," England said slowly, looking up from his barricade of shame. "Don't." Not that topic. Anything about that topic. Not now. It was true that Arthur and Alfred had similar views on the matter, as they didn't call it a bloody, 'Special Relationship,' for nothing… But Alfred… Got carried away very easily. This was one such instance. That was not a, 'teeny-tiny,' problem, and it certainly did affect the Briton man… What a stupid git… The things he had done for that nation and he didn't even acknowledge it. A, 'Special Relationship,' indeed.

"Fine," Alfred said slowly, his now green eyes, piercing Arthur's new blue ones. "I'll stop." He accented his action by placing his hand down on Russia's upper back with another swift pat.

"What I'd like for you to stop," Russia said, giving Alfred a deadly glare, "Is for you to stop _touching_ me…"

"Oh," Alfred said, giving off another cheesy grin. "Sorry 'bout that, buddy." For good measure, Alfred patted the Russian man's arm again in an attempt to say, 'no hard feelings.' But apparently there were too _many_ hard feelings… And not the French kind either.

"**If. You. Touch. My. Goddamn. Shoulder. One. More. Time… I'm. Going. To. Fuck. You. Up. So. Badly. That. You're. Going. To. Wish. You. Would. Have. Become. One. With. Me. Earlier. **Da?"

Alfred did a good job of running away when he needed to. And now was a good time to do it. Arthur had never seen himself move so fast and cower behind Japan like that before. Oh yes, England's reputation as a once-great nation was slipping down the drain…

_**4. Do not let France remove his clothes.**_

Enough said.

And where did these freakin' _rose petals _come from?!

_**3. Do not mention McDonalds and England's cooking in the same sentence. **_

"Alright," Alfred said cheerfully. "I think this meeting is over. I've finished what I needed to say."

_Oh yes, _Arthur thought to himself_. Did you ever… _

"Hey wait!" Canada said, raising his hand, as if that would somehow draw attention to himself. "I haven't gone yet!"

"So, McDonalds it is?" Alfred sat back down in his chair and smiled. "There's one across the street. I say we all go get lunch there."

"I don't want to get lunch with someone who kept on touching me. Especially when I told them not to," Russia said, standing up.

"I don't really want to go for lunch with someone who has just openly revealed to the entire room that I was… Doing… Italy." German also stood up and began to gather up his papers. He hadn't taken any notes. No one did.

"I'm going to have pasta instead." Italy said brightly. "But England can't have any because he made Germany mad."

"I don't want to have lunch with someone who won't sleep with me," France said, picking his clothes off the floor. "What I have to offer is better than McDonalds…" He ended his statement with a wink that he shot at England, before sitting down, still clad in… Well, nothing, really.

"I just want to go back to Canada!!"

"Well," Alfred said. "It's clear that everyone seems to hate me…" There were no objections and Arthur sighed.

"I didn't even know you _liked_, McDonalds, Arthur," England said trying to steer America back into the lessons that they had gone through the previous night.

"Well, I actually love McDonalds because it's better than anything I could ever cook. Am I right?" Alfred waited as a couple of the nations nodded in shame. "I just say I hate things because I don't want people to know I like them."

"Oh, when we get home, I'm going to shove your McDonalds so far up your ass it's gonna hurt."

_**2. Do not start another World War.**_

Russia was angry. Germany was _embarrassed _and angry. France was _naked, sexually deprived_, and angry. Japan was _nervous, confused, taking too many people's sides_, and angry. Arthur was all of the above (well, at least he wasn't naked and sexually deprived) and angry. Alfred was just plain stupid, and angry. Italy was filling up a pot of water to cook pasta in. And Canada was… Canada.

"I just don't like people _touching me_. It's fine when I tell you, you can, but that was uncalled for."

"I'm not _sleeping_ with Italy!"

"FRANCIS PUT SOME CLOTHES ON!"

"Why doesn't anyone want to sleep with meee~?"

"Ah! France stop trying to take advantage of meee~!!"

"Did you just try to rape Japan?!"

"Does anyone want any pastaaa~?"

"I would like everyone to be quiet!!"

"It's so nice watching everyone just be together… Right Canada?"

"U-Uhh… Yeah. Sure, Russia. Y-You're squishing my shoulder…"

"Can we just _go?!_"

"It's hot in here!"

"I swear, Francis, that if you don't stop touching me, I'm gonna declare war on you!"

"World War Three!!"

"Don't say that!"

"Axis versus Allies!"

"How about America versus England?!!"

"HOW ABOUT EVERYONE SHUTS THE HELL UP!!"

"_**I SAID STOP TOUCHING ME!!!!"**_

If Arthur wasn't on his feet before, he certainly was now. Everyone was. There was no nation left… Sitting. Every nation's voice was raised, including England's own. He wasn't even _trying_ to sound American anymore. And Alfred had obviously forgotten how a British man was supposed to sound. Apparently.

The Briton man had long since given up trying to keep the peace between nations. Now everyone was yelling at everyone and things were absolute chaos. France was successfully groping everyone, Canada was on the verge of tears, and Italy was furiously cooking pasta. _Was that a portable stove-top? _Germany was fuming, and probably yelling the loudest out of all the attending nations. Japan was quietly sulking in the corner, and England could tell that he was trying to think of over-exultant revenge plots to ease his pain of being molested by Francis.

Alfred was fighting off a _very_ pissed Russia, and screaming things like, "I'm sorry! I don't want to be one with Russia! This is like the cold war all over again!"

To which Russia would reply with, "It wasn't even about _you!_"

To which America stupidly replied, "Sure it was! And I'm pretty sure I was the winner there when I-"

"Arthur," England said in an icy voice. "I want to talk to you in the other room. NOW."

_**And the number one thing to NOT do at a G8 meeting… In an Englishman's body… **_

_**1. 'Don't… Just… Don't. And don't make me feel this way when it hurts so much.'**_

"WHAT IN THE BLOODY HELL WERE YOU _THINKING??_"

Both the American and British nations had successfully slipped away from the feuding countries and had settled into a neighbouring conference room, with a layout similar to the one they were previously in. Arthur currently had his back turned to the closed door, while Alfred leaned nonchalantly back against the center table.

"You completely disregarded all of our damn training we went through last night! What the hell was that!? All those things you said! You _knew_ you had to pretend to sound like me! But no… That was too hard for stupid little America… Of course the severity of this situation was too much for you to wrap your thick head around!!" Arthur was mad. In fact, he was more than mad. He was downright pissed. As if it wasn't clear already, Arthur was also nervous. What if another nation had caught on to their charade? That could prove dire to the both of them! The last thing Arthur wanted was for the whole world to find out that they were both living in each other's bodies…

"I'm sorry." That was all Alfred could say. Two words. Two _lousy,_ flippin' words. Well Arthur would have _none_ of that.

"Don't you have _anything_ to say for yourself!?" Arthur all but shrieked. "I was holding up my end just fine until you had to go all, 'Oh look at me. I'm a hero. La. Di. Da. Da. Bloody, da.' And in _my_ body! It would have been fine had you have been in your own worthless piece of flesh! But you're not. You're in mine, and for all we know, you could have done a lot of damage in there!"

"I was _nervous_, alright! Lay off it!" Alfred snapped. "Nothing happened! If you haven't noticed, all of these other countries are probably more cracked out than we are! And right now, that's saying a lot."

"You completely destroyed my reputation as a country, America. Are you proud of that? I work so hard to sound respected at these damn meetings, only to have you screw it up somehow," Arthur said, narrowing his eyes as Alfred stood up straighter. Arthur decided to push the knife deeper. "You always screw up America. Always. Your whole life has been one bloody mistake after the other!" Not true. "And another thing, you've never had any good ideas. All of them are completely useless! They were useless back when we were in the wars, and they're sure as _heck_ useless _now_." Not true. But England was completely seething with his passive-aggressive rage that he couldn't stop hurtling insult after insult at the American man standing in front of him. Even when Alfred took a step toward Arthur, he never stopped. If Alfred was just going to hit him, he might as well get everything he could out now.

"You were always letting me down, Alfred." Not true. "You never seem to get anything right. Ever. Sometimes I wonder if I would have been better off not to have even met you like I did back then. Maybe we would have both been better off!" Not true. Oh, that was so untrue.

"Arthur…"

"And don't even get me _started _on that _damn _Revolution of yours! What were you _**thinking?! **_If you hadn't have done that, then both of us wouldn't even _be_ in this bloody mess! For God's sakes, you've _**never **_thought, have you?! Not once in your life!"

"Arthur."

"And I'm beginning to think that maybe your damn stupidity is affecting _my_ head!" England ran a hand through his hair for subconscious emphasis and looked down as Alfred took another step forward. "I thought you were my friend, Alfred. As much as I hate to admit it, I actually saw that bloody, 'Special Relationship,' as being some sort of silly friendship. But you're hardly a friend America. You've never been anything close to one! I am so close to completely hating you right now! What's the difference? Everyone else hates me! Apparently I spewed a shit load of filth all over the place!"

"Arthur!"

"What?" Arthur asked, exasperated. "What can you possibly have to say after all that, you… You… B-Bloody… Ungrateful… Git! Did you not hear me say that I _hated_ you?!! You ruined everythi- _mmph!_"

But Arthur wasn't able to finish this last sentence because, not only was his tie forcibly yanked on, so that he stumbled forward, but his mouth was also… Preoccupied. In an instant, Alfred's mouth was pressed against his in one harsh movement. England gasped as he felt his back being distinctly pushed back against the door of the second conference room, which only proved to allow the entrance of Alfred's tongue, as it swept across his teeth and battled with _Arthur's_ protesting tongue.

It had all happened so fast that Arthur didn't even have time to think, despite the fact that his eyes slipped shut. Alfred's mouth was hot on his own as his tongue probed every inch of Arthur's mouth, stroking it deeply with a fiery passion that Arthur didn't even know America possessed.

"_Hey, England. I will choose liberty after all…"_

Alfred's hand, which had previously been holding tightly to Arthur's necktie, found its way to Arthur's hair, as his fingers became lazily twined in his tangling hair. "Nnnhh… A-Alfred," Arthur breathed, as America pulled away just so he could take a breath and gently nip at Arthur's lower lip, tantalizingly softly.

"I had to shut you up somehow, right?" Alfred gave a small laugh, smoothed over by all sorts of lust.

"D-Don't do this a-ah… Alfred."

"_I'm no longer your child… Or your baby brother. From now on, I'm independent. Acknowledge it!" _

America's mouth now found its way to Arthur's neck as he moved away the obstructing suit-collar with one brush of his hand. "Ughh… P-Please, Alfred… D-Don't," Arthur said softly, as Alfred continued to bite and suck at the bend of his neck, sending shudders down Arthur's spine. His hands were planted firmly on Alfred's chest, his fingers tightly gripping onto the fabric of Alfred's suit jacket.

This shouldn't be happening. This was wrong. So wrong. Arthur shouldn't be reacting this way to Alfred's advances. But, oh God, did it ever feel right. Arthur let out a soft moan, which he tried desperately to bite back, his head swimming with more thoughts.

"_T-There's no point in firing, is there? Fool…" _

"Nnh… Oh G-God, A-Al…" Arthur couldn't even mumble coherent sentences anymore as his thoughts and his whole damned body didn't respond to reason anymore. Arthur was supposed to be mad and upset! Not… This… Why was he goddamn feeling this way? Thoughts of Alfred's past filled his head as America returned to his gasping mouth, and Arthur felt a growing lump in the back of his throat, as if he was going to cry. Wasn't this what he had always wanted? Secretly? Of course. Arthur had always wanted this. Always. Always… Always… But not like this. Not with so many things unsettled. Not when they were like this. Not now… Not… Ever. Arthur almost screamed in his confusion.

When Alfred's hands moved to the buttons on Arthur's shirt, England had had enough. What America was doing now was far from real. He was never real. Or serious. Everything was a joke. Like this was going to be. One sick joke. "G-Get off of me," Arthur breathed desperately.

"You don't hate me," Alfred said, smiling delicately. It broke Arthur's heart. He had never been more confused in his life, and by the looks of it, neither had America.

"I-I…" _I could never hate you. But I don't like you. I want to be close to you. But I don't want to do this now. I l-lo… But right now, I can't be far enough away from you. So I have to go. For both of us. _As soon as Alfred's lips captured his once more, things changed, and Arthur didn't want to be falsely loved any longer. That had happened to him one too many times over the course of his long life. He was _not_ going to be walked on by America anymore.

When Alfred's hand had fully loosened Arthur's tie, England's mind _finally_ snapped back to reality. "Get. Off. Of. Me." He finalized his words by giving Alfred one brutal shove, enough so that the younger man staggered visibly backwards, grasping the edge of the table for support. Arthur looked at the image of himself, gasping for breath, and looking ridiculously small. But Arthur couldn't stop. He could never stop. "I hate you. Don't EVER touch me like that again." And… "I want you to go away…" His voice broke. Damn it. "I just… Can't… Be with you… Now."

With one swift turn on his heels, Arthur had the door of the conference room thrown open and he purposefully stormed out into the hall. The last person he wanted to see standing there was _France._

"GET THE HELL OUT OF MY DAMNED WAY!!! FUCKIN' _FROG!!!!_"

The air outside was hot and it burned Arthur's cheeks as he stood before the busy American streets, watching as the passing cars in front of him, blurred away into splashes of bright colours. He was crying. What was he supposed to do now? He could almost hear a small voice resonating inside the walls of his head.

"_England… You used to be… So big…" _

**When was that again?**

* * *

The day had been eventful to say the least, and Canada had waited until every nation had left the meeting, before gathering up his papers. America had left in a hurry, followed quickly by England. Soon, everyone decided to end the meeting as it was, and meet again next year. Canada had never gotten to read his speech… Not that anyone would have paid attention anyways.

Matthew sighed but there was a feeling in the pit of his stomach that he couldn't explain. Suspision? Arthur and Alfred were acting strange… Stranger than usual. And when one is ignored as much as Canada is, one tends to be more susceptible to his own surroundings, picking out anything seemingly out of the ordinary.

The Canadian man stood and walked to the door of the conference room. In his hand, he held a stack of papers, which he tossed into the trash can. England's speech. Of course there had been a reason as to why he was there early. Of course he had felt guilty, but you don't ignore a Canadian without consequences. Apparently, England had troubles thinking on his feet, which only made that feeling in Matthew's stomach worse. Oh but how devious he could be…

Canada turned off the light and shut the door with a sly smile on his face, but stopped just outside the door. Quickly, he reopened the door, plucked the papers from the trash, and put them in the recycling bin. Because that was just how Canadians rolled.

* * *

**Author's Note (Again): **Well? *nervous laugh* What did ya'll think of that one? I'm not sure how I feel about this at all… XD I don't know. What do you guys think? I value everyone's opinion here, so drop me a comment! I'll reply, as usual. XD I tried to make this chapter a LITTLE more serious… I wonder if that worked… But as I must say, credit here goes to um… David Letterman for the, "Top Ten List." Haha. That's cute. And also, the Boston accent thing… I read the most amazing little fic about Alfred's Boston accent and it made me think of that accent and how I hear it sometimes. Gosh, I just had to put that in here. It's posted on the USxUK Live-Journal community and it is an accent kink win. (If the author is around and you want some sort of credit, please stand up! *bricked*) XP Again… Long fic! I hear people like that? *smiles* Just for you then! Okay, so does anyone else think I'm on crack for coming up with these bizarre plans to save the globe? Huh? You mean we _can't_ just forget about the economy? Really? I seriously had that thought once. XD Oh, and I'm terrible at writing kisses, so… Apologies.

**Every time you review, you melt a Canadian's heart. Really. Do it for Matthew, because you love him!**


	5. Note to self: Fuck my life

**Story Title:** A Special Relationship of Questionable Identities

**Story Summary: **America and England have a Special Relationship… 'Special,' being the operative word. When Arthur's mythical friends decide to try and save their failing friendship, the two nations wake to realize that they have switched bodies. What will become of these questionable identities, and what will they have to do to return to supposed normalcy?

**Word Count: **27, 702

**Status: **Ongoing chapters

**Warnings: TONS **of swearing. I swear a lot in writing. -_- **MINIMAL EDITING**. Also, later, there'll be some, err... Suggestive situations. This story also features a boyXboy pairing. If you don't like that, then this story probably won' t float your boat. (In this chapter, I feature some new OCs. I also use the voice of the US president. This is not to be connected to Barack Obama in any way, shape, or form, except for the purpose of this fic, which is a work of fiction… Obviously.)

**Rating: T+**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Hetalia in any way, shape, or form. I don't own the characters in this story, despite their OOC-ness in some moments. If I owned Hetalia, I wouldn't be writing fan fiction about it, and I would certainly be the supreme ruler of the Universe. That's right. It's that good.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Hello there! I'm glad to see you back here! …You all came back, right? :3 Anyways, I bring you the fifth chapter in my story, and I'm amazed I've even gotten this far with it! It's fun to write, and it's even more fun to read what everyone has to say about it. So, I'll fill this space, once again, with how happy I am, with the responses left for this fic. They are all a pleasure to read, and I enjoy replying to all of them! And I do, reply, so if you haven't gotten one, there's a problem! :O Thanks also, to all the anon reviewers, and to everyone who gave me alerts/favourites, without reviews. You guys are awesome too! ^.^ I meet a lot of nice people through these reviews, that's for sure! So to everyone, love you guys!

This chapter also features a couple OCs, or states/nations that I made personalities for. Texas, Alaska, and Mexico. So have fun with them! ;D

And this fic is dedicated to my best friend… That is if she ever decides to read it! Come on! Small attention-span=Alfred. There. I win. :3

This fic is long… So you better start reading, y'all!

P.S The beginning isn't supposed to make sense. Stay with it! You'll understand… And the, 'Notes to self,' come _after_ the paragraphs they were written for. They're not headings. But you'll get that. And Alfred and Arthur have eachother's phone's/emails, so they use eachother's. Sorry! OTL

* * *

**Chapter Five: Note to self: Fuck my life**

"**Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell." **

**-Edna St. Vincent Millay**

The room was dimly lit. Arthur Kirkland was sure of that much, at least. He also noticed that the room he was in now was gaudily decorated in heavy fabrics and draped in dark splashes of exotic colours. At least the room wasn't cold. Arthur just wished he knew where he was.

The Briton man sat in a plush, lounge chair, his hands resting gingerly on the arm rests. In front of him, sat a man behind a large oak desk. Arthur eyed the markings on the desk instead of the vision of the man himself, as the etches spun words and patterns across the dark, shiny wood. He wondered what it read. It seemed to be a different language. Either that or he was having difficulties distinguishing his own speech in his confusion. Where the _fuck _was he?!

The man at the desk, who's face was shrouded in deep shadows, gave one, throaty cough, making the Briton sit up straighter. He knew where he was now. This was an office. A therapist's office. The man behind the desk was a therapist. It all made so much sense now. He knew what needed to be said. "Hello, my name is Arthur. A-R-T-H-U-R. And I am addicted to alcohol, using profane and vulgar words, and Alfred F. Jones."

Suddenly, Arthur became _very_ aware of the drink he held in his hand, and the feeling of complete space in his head, like he was on the verge of being sick, or fainting dead away. How long had he been drinking? Surely it hadn't been _that _long… Yet…

"Okay. Well it appears we've got some good groundwork lain. Tell me, what do you think made you turn to alcohol and using these words in the first place?" The therapist's voice sounded all too familiar.

A… Reason? Surely this therapist with the familiar voice was mistaken… Then why was Arthur so _defensive_ about it? Because he didn't _need_ a reason to drink! Heck, he didn't even need a reason to be _hopelessly in love_…

"Well I've always been a drinker! I mean, there's nothing' like a good ol' bottle o' whiskey or scotch to take the edge off… You know… D-Dull the pain. Ease ma troubled soul. All that, r-rubbish. But I'd have ta say that I really started ma drinkin' after the A-American Revolution. You know… Rain? Guns? S-Stupid git-faced… A-Alfreds thinkin' they can just have whateva' the hell they want! It's all 'is bloody fault… All… Alfred's!" Arthur concluded his statements with a stream of garbled curses, moving his eyes from the man, still covered in shadows, to the etchings on the desk again.

"Sir, are you drunk? And how _old_ are you exactly?"

"I, good gentleman, am far from… D-Drunk. I-It's very rude of you ta assume somethin' like that. And I'm sahry, but I don' like ta reveal ma age on the first date… Maybe if ya come back ta ma place later, I'll tell ya… What else do ya wanna k-know?" Arthur ended this with a wink before erupting into a fit of hysterical laughter. Oh, he was drunk… But since when? He had felt fine only moments again. Now, his stomach was reeling and he could barely think straight, let a lone talk straight. Surely, this must be Alfred's fault somehow.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to put the bottle down." It was that damned therapist. The one that England couldn't see.

"N-No! I-I don' have ta listen to ya… I-I'm the great British Empire!! G-God save our gracious Queen~! L-Long live our noble Q-hic-Queen…" Arthur's voice was unrecognizable, even to his own ears.

"I'm sorry sir, but I can't let you drink excessively while you're in my office… It's against my moral code. And you're singing terribly…" The man behind the desk, shifted slightly, as if getting ready to move. Yet the shadows still remained on his face.

"Y-You have a moral c-code? Ha! If you have a-a-a code, then why can't I see yer face? Yer always covered in those fuckin' shadows! What? Can't show yer face to ol' Arthur?"

"You're not Arthur."

England stopped and looked at the man again, still unable to view his face. "I beg your pardon?" This was said much more clearly than his previous bouts of drunkenness.

"How can you be Arthur Kirkland, when I am Arthur Kirkland? I am the eminent British Empire. I'm England. Not you. How can you be so _delusional _as to think as such?"

"B-But, what are you talking about? I thought I-"

Suddenly, the man got up from his chair behind the desk. For a moment, he was still buried in darkness, little light to illuminate his features. When he walked around the desk, however, Arthur could clearly see his face… Too clearly… Much too clearly. "As I was saying, how can you possibly be Arthur, when I _already_ am?"

"I-I don't believe you," Arthur said, scarcely recognizing his own voice again, as the undertones of antique Britain began to leave his tongue, wrapping themselves in an ordinary English that Arthur could only describe as being American. "I'm England… Stop playing tricks on me. You're not…"

But it was too late. The Arthur standing before him, with the smuggest of grins on his clear face, held up the most beautiful of mirrors that the Briton had ever seen. The rims were gold and placid, the ancient texture and style of embossing, never once disturbing his sight. The gold glittered an almost bronze colour, as it glinted its luminosity in the surrounding glow of deep light. That was when Arthur saw his face… _His_ face. Alfred.

Arthur tore the mirror away from the man's hands and peered desperately into his reflection, as he realized that the brilliant blue eyes and the sandy-blonde hair weren't his. They were Alfred's. All America's. He had never been himself. England looked desperately back up to the Arthur before his eyes, but his vision was met by the most sadistic of smiles he had ever seen. Arthur Kirkland had never felt so hopeless.

"Give me my body back! Give me my life back! Give me my _love_ back!" Arthur yelled, raising the mirror above his head. "I can't _stand _this! I need it back! I need America back!" Then, in one rush of dizzying wind, Arthur hurtled the mirror over his head, watching as it collided with the wall of the strange office, and crashed to the floor, pieces shattering in all directions.

The Arthur before him was gone, and England approached the broken mirror with caution. Surely he was himself again, and he could forget all about his nightmare. But a broken surface is hard to see one's reflection in, and when Arthur stepped over the shattered frame, he saw that the face in the smashed crystal was not his. It was America's. All of the pieces… They were Alfred's. All America's. He had never been himself…

Arthur screamed then, breaking all the remaining shards of mirror with his foot, each piece cutting into his boot. But there was no pain. He was Alfred, and if Arthur wasn't there, then it was impossible for him to feel pain.

"Arthur. Wake up!"

"Arthur~!"

"Please, wake up! You're having a nightmare!"

Then, a _crash_ as Arthur's foot came down on the largest piece of mirror. There was a splash of red, white, and then utter darkness, the shards of mirror left forgotten on the floor. Had anyone else entered the room, they would have seen the images of Arthur Kirkland, now, burning on their surfaces.

*******

**COUNTDOWN: **

**Five Days Until America's Birthday**

_**June 30, 2009 **_

Arthur awoke with a start, sitting bolt-upright in his bed. His eyes were wide, his forehead slick with sweat. He was overheating, and he tore the blankets away from his body, as he gasped for the breath he had been previously holding in. He never screamed, although he wanted to.

"Arthur! Finally! Why the fuck wouldn't you wake up when we called you?"

The Briton man whipped his head swiftly to his left and he was surprised to see a small glowing light. It was yellow. He jumped, his brain still numb from sleep, yet alert due to his nightmare he had had just seconds ago. He was already forgetting the images as they began to vanish with the haziness of slumber. As his eyes adjusted to the light in the room, Arthur noticed that the glow was actually a small body. "Pix," he said slowly. "I mean, Aine."

"Jesus," the pixie said, rolling her small, golden eyes. "Took you long enough."

"W-Why are you here?" Arthur asked, still trying to clear his head. Why the hell was it pounding so badly?

"_I said GET. OUT!!!!" _

"_But, where am I supposed to go?" _

"_I don't __**care**__ where the hell you go! Just get out of my damn sight!" _

Arthur groaned. Of course he remembered. The man shuddered, and let his head fall back onto the pillow. Sun was already beginning to stream in through the windows by his bed and Arthur could tell by the array of colours, that it was daybreak. How much sleep had he gotten? It couldn't have been much. He had been drinking all night. He must have passed out completely around two in the morning.

"You're in trouble, Arthur. _Serious_ trouble." There was a new voice now, and Arthur turned his head on the pillow, to look into a pair of sultry green eyes basked in a soft and serenely green light. Asparas.

Arthur turned his head back and covered his eyes with his hand. "Leave me alone. I know I'm in trouble. Why do you think I fuckin' got pissed?" Despite his predicament, Arthur laughed. "Just let me die here."

Even though Arthur's eyes were closed, he could still tell that Asparas had rolled her eyes as well. "Well, pardon us for trying to _help_ you."

"_**Help**_ me?" Arthur asked, sadistically. "You're the ones who did this to me in the first place. It was you who made my life a living hell, and then Alfred ruined it further. Now. Leave me the hell alone!"

"_FINE. I'll just go to Britain! If you can live in my house, I'll just live in your's!" _

"_Whatever. Just don't make yourself look like an ass while you're in my body. Oh wait. You already did that. Never mind. And don't go around senselessly groping other people. Oh wait! You did that too!"_

"_Well, sorry I just tried to show you how I felt!" _

"_Hah! Good one America… Feel… You're disgusting. Now get out of here before I call National Security." _

"_Fine. I hope you burn in hell." _

"_Already there! But you too!"_

"_Heh… Already there…" _

Everything after that became a blur. After the meeting, Arthur fully remembered arriving at Alfred's house first. Of course he had fumed and stormed around the living room, waiting for the git to get home. When Alfred finally _did _get home, six hours later, Arthur practically threw the man out of his own house. And with Alfred standing on the lawn in dismay, Arthur was able to throw a couple of suitcases out the door behind him, one successfully nailing the American in the forehead. A couple pairs of clothes, and toiletries later, Arthur slammed the door in Alfred's face.

_Knock. Knock. Knock. "Arthur… I'm really sorry." _

"_No. I'm sorry." _

"_I-" _

"_I'm sorry that I ever trusted you… I'm sorry that I ever…" _

"_Arthur?" _

"…"

"_Fine. I'm leaving then. For Britain, I guess… Goodbye." _

"…"

"Seriously, Arthur. If you hadn't noticed, you're going to be stuck this way _forever!_" Aine tapped Arthur's arm harshly, while Asparas flew to his head and started to pull on his hair.

"What am I supposed to do then? You did this to me! Now fix it!" Arthur uncovered his eyes and stared up at _Alfred's_ ceiling from _Alfred's_ bed. He was _going_ to sleep on the sofa, but figured that that was a little much. It wasn't like Alfred was there to say anything about it. Besides, wasn't it _technically_ his bed now? If he was stuck like America, didn't he have free rights to all that America _owned_? Arthur groaned again. He didn't want to be America… "Please… Fix this."

Aine coughed. "We don't know how."

"_WHAT?!_" Arthur sat up straight again, sending both tiny girls flying.

"Watch it!" Asparas barked, righting herself, and hovering back over to where Arthur sat, a kind of horrified look settling on his face. "Well, it's _partly_ your fault! Stop lookin' like that!"

"W-What do you mean that you can't fix this!?" Arthur got out of bed, but realizing that it had been too quickly, stumbled, until he grabbed onto the dresser.

"I mean," Asparas said bitterly. "_You_ fucked things up and we can't fix this. You were the only one who could make this work, and now it's all screwed to hell!"

"Yeah," Aine said, making herself comfortable on the large bed. "This was supposed to be your _adventure_ and you blew it. Now, the only way to get you back in your own body is for us to fix it manually… Only… We don't know how…"

"I-I still don't understand," Arthur said, digging in America's dresser drawer for something decent to wear. He moved to the closet next, throwing gaudy and loud patterns onto the floor and into the bedroom. He must have had a dress-shirt _somewhere_ in here!

"You were supposed to confess your goddamn _feelings_ to each other!! But you _didn't!! _You kicked him out of his freakin' house! That was the only way to fix it! Both of you guys had to fuckin' admit to each other that you were in love!" Aine, despite the anger in her tone, ended her statement in a laugh.

"That's disgusting," Arthur said stubbornly, but smiled when he spotted a dark blue dress shirt. When did Alfred buy _this_? "Besides. I don't _love_ Alfred… That's a vulgar thought and he bloody well doesn't love me. So your stupid plan wouldn't have worked from the beginning." Arthur began to change, throwing his night-clothes into a pile and pulling on a pair of Alfred's black trousers.

"Ah! Indecency! You shouldn't just remove your clothes in front of two young women," Asparas grunted, joining Aine on the bed.

Arthur gave one, short laugh. "Yeah. Young, alright. And like you should be talking. You're the most _indecent_ creatures I know!" Once the Briton man had finished dressing, he never turned around. He couldn't let his magical friends know that his face was the darkest shade of red that it had ever been. He had to confess his feelings for Alfred?! He almost choked when he heard that… Oh, he was screwed. They were right. So what could he possibly do now?

"We need a book," Asparas said, seeming to read Arthur's mind, which was a terrifying thought. "A book on magic. On _our_ kind of magic."

"Well, where are we gonna _find_ it?" Arthur turned around quickly, his hang-over becoming apparent once more. He gritted his teeth in response.

"Dunno," the girls said in unison.

"For God's _sakes!_" Arthur said, putting a hand to his head. "What the hell am I supposed to bloody _do??_"

Suddenly, both Aine and Asparas burst out into uncontrollable fits of high-pitched laughter.

"WHAT?!" Arthur almost screamed.

"Your zipper on your pants is open~!"

The blush on the Briton was back, full-forcibly, and he quickly yanked his zipper closed. Damn. He should really check those things out before he turned around…

**Note to Self: Don't drink so much before bed… Or at all, for that matter. And wear your clothes properly. Jeeze, Arthur… **

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Arthur looked at Aine and Asparas and they were both wide eyed. "I-Is that Alfred?" Arthur asked nervously. Without listening to their responses, England quickly walked to the front door. Alfred was supposed to be in _Britain_. Not back here… Arthur wasn't sure if he was ready to _deal_ with America at the moment, his mind still reeling from his previous bout of binge-drinking, and sleep.

Upon looking through the small peep-hole in Alfred's door, Arthur eyed gently flowing sandy-blonde hair and bright, cheery blue eyes. "Holy shit, it's Alfred!" Arthur said out loud, backing away from the door and covering his mouth with his hands.

Aine and Asparas, who had followed him from the other room, took their turns looking through the peep-hole. They then turned to England and yelled in unison, "THAT'S _**CANADA**_ YOU BLOODY **MORON!!!**"

Arthur jumped when the man knocked on the door again, but didn't hesitate in opening it. He could deal with _Matthew_ this morning. "Matthew!" Arthur called in greeting upon seeing the northern nation, like he hadn't _just_ confused him with America. Part of him felt guilty and ashamed for that.

"Ah! Alfred," the shorter man said nervously. "I just wanted to know how you were feeling this morning… You left the meeting in a hurry yesterday. I never got to say goodbye. I'm going back to Canada this evening." He shifted uncomfortably and Arthur's eyes dropped down to a small box cradled in his arms. "Oh," he added, looking away. "I made you breakfast. I thought you might not have been feeling well, so I made you pancakes. I brought some maple-syrup. I knew you liked it, so…"

Arthur was almost taken aback by the sickening sweetness dripping off of the Canadian's actions. Alfred did not deserve him as a brother, that was for sure… They were so different. Arthur almost cried, but held himself together by ushering the younger man through the door. "I'm glad you came," Arthur said, almost too softly. "You have no idea how much I want a friend to talk to…" His voice trailed away, but Matthew caught everything.

"S-Should I cancel my flight? I could stay with you. Do you need to talk? Are you feeling alright? You know how I get worried about you," Matthew said, leading them both into Alfred's large kitchen and setting the box of pancakes on the table.

As much as Arthur wanted the Canadian to stay, he couldn't have Matthew miss his ride home. "No," he said simply. "You don't have to stay. I'm alright. Really. Now, let's have some of these pancakes!"

"I-If you're sure, Alfred…" Matthew walked to the cupboards and returned to the table, where Arthur now sat, with two plates and two forks in his hands. Upon setting them on the table, Matthew smiled, and asked. "Would you like some coffee? I can make some for you."

Arthur blinked. Coffee? He would have _preferred_ tea, but Canada still assumed he was fully talking with America… "Sure. I'll have some… Coffee. Great." He tried to sound pleased, and Matthew _seemed _fooled, as he turned around and started the coffee machine.

As Arthur settled down with yesterday's copy of America's newspaper, the phone rang. Where was Alfred's phone? Arthur jumped up quickly and looked for the source of the ringing. Upon finding the screeching electronic, England attempted to answer it. Why the hell was it so… Complex? Couldn't Alfred just have a _normal_ phone, instead of inventing his own?! The Briton pressed a button and hoped he had answered it properly.

"Hey, douche-bag! How's my house?! Alright? I bet you enjoyed sleeping in my bed too, you filthy, British, piece of--" CLICK.

Arthur's eyes were wide and Canada stared at the phone with a look of disbelief on his face. Both men stood in total shock. Damn Alfred! Damn speaker-phone! Damn _himself_ for not picking up the phone properly!! "A-Arthur must be drunk again," England said with a nervous laugh. "He always phones me like that… I should really get caller I.D."

**Note to self: Buy a new phone… Or just learn to answer the current one properly. **

"Alfred, your cell-phone is ringing," Matthew said, taking a sip of coffee, after both nations settled down for breakfast. Was that Britney Spears? Why the hell did Alfred have a _Britney Spears _ring-tone?! Arthur would never understand the man…

England looked around for the cell-phone and was surprised to find that Matthew had found it first. "It's a text-message," he said. "From Arthur."

"DON'T OPEN IT!!"

Too late. Matthew flipped open Alfred's cell-phone and Arthur watched as his eyes scanned the message. "He sent you a picture," he said, handing the phone over to Arthur.

Due to Arthur's technological disability, it took him a moment to open the picture. But when he did…

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!" Arthur shrieked and jumped back from the table, knocking his chair over. Canada stood up quickly too as Arthur's breathing became anxious puffs of choked air. Had Canada not have been there, Arthur would have passed out.

Matthew tore the phone away from Arthur's hands, as the Briton man stood in a frozen position as if the phone had not been moved. He stared through the air at the tiled floor, unmoving and unfeeling, his body going completely numb.

Matthew laughed. "So, Arthur shaves his eyebrows when he's drunk?!"

**Note to self: KILL ALFRED. **

"Well, two can play at this game," Arthur said, his mind completely lost to his rage. He walked swiftly to the bathroom, Matthew quick on his heels.

"What are you _doing?!_" the Canadian exclaimed, watching as Arthur removed a pair of sharp scissors from Alfred's top drawer.

"I want you to give me a haircut," Arthur said with a resolute smile on his face. "Now." Arthur took Alfred's stray piece of hair, and held it gingerly in between his fingers. "Cut it off," he said.

Canada's eyes were wide in horror, their size easily comparable to the size of baseballs. "B-But… Nantucket!"

"I SAID CUT IT OFF!!!!!"

"Okay!!" Canada shrieked, snipping Nantucket so that it fell slowly to the bathroom floor.

"Good!" Arthur shouted, tousling his hair, and then taking a step forward. He found that it was harder to do, as he felt the need to lean to his left. Damn! Was Nantucket Alfred's sense of balance too?! Oh well, he could adjust. "Come on," Arthur said, righting himself again. "Let's go take some pictures and send them to good ol' Arthur."

**Note to self: Don't scare the shit out of Canada anymore… **

Arthur and Matthew had made themselves comfortable in Alfred's living room. Arthur was reading one of the books he had brought to America, and Canada was playing with Kumajirou. They hadn't been bothered by Alfred in almost an hour… Which seemed… Odd. Arthur shifted uncomfortably in his chair, slipping a little bit to his left as he did so. His new hair-cut would take some getting used to.

Suddenly, Arthur heard that damn Britney Spears song again, and once more, Matthew was quicker on the draw. "Arthur says to check the news…"

"Oh _God_," Arthur said out loud, grabbing the remote from the coffee-table, and aiming it at the television. He was scared as to what he would see when he turned it on… "Matthew," Arthur said, before pressing the power-button. "Whatever that screen says, I just want you to know, that Arthur is _very _drunk right now and is capable of anything… _Anything_."

Matthew nodded in understanding and Arthur pressed the button. He had said that Alfred was capable of anything… And he had been right. He just didn't expect, 'anything,' to include _this_…

"_Britain sells Wales, Scotland, and Northern Ireland to France for a croissant, United Kingdom no more." _

One sentence. One lousy sentence was enough to make Arthur want to stroke-out. That and Arthur's face appearing on screen saying, "I just didn't want them anymore. 'Sides, I was hungry." Needless to say, Arthur's scream was enough to forcibly cause an earthquake somewhere near Las Vegas and now Canada was partially deaf in his right ear.

**Note to self: Fuck. **

"Okay. That's fine. I'll get that French bastard to give them back… Okay… If need be, I'll start a war against him… Yeah. A war! I'd win, of course. I always do!"

"A-Alfred, why are you talking to yourself?" Matthew asked nervously, as he watched Arthur pace back and forth from the living-room, and then to the kitchen, cell-phone in hand.

Arthur stopped abruptly and faced Canada, a subtle gleam in his eyes. "You know what?" He asked the younger nation excitedly. "I want _you_ to have Alaska!"

"_**WHAT?! **_O-Oh no, Alfred! You can't give me that!! Russia'll KILL me!!" Matthew had both of his hands up in protest, but Arthur was _not_ going to listen to reason at the moment.

"He won't _kill_ you! Besides, you can't refuse a gift. Take it. Alaska's yours. Oh, wait till they find out that they're Canadian now!" Arthur broke out into a fit of laughter before opening his phone and promptly dialling a number. He waited a couple of seconds before he heard a voice on the other line.

"Hola."

"Ah~! Mexico! How've you been?! It's your good ol' buddy America, here! Look. I want you to have something…"

*******

Text Message (Sent):

To: Arthur's cell

From: Alfred's cell

Check the news, git. What do you think about that? ;)

Arthur sat back on Alfred's sofa, Canada, at his left. England was absolutely beaming. That was how he knew he was going absolutely insane. In a minute, Alfred would be turning on the television in Britain and seeing the headline:

"_America GIVES Texas to Mexico and GIVES Alaska to Canada. Looks like we're only 48 states now…" _

England smiled when he saw a clip of Mexico on the screen, donning a pair of glasses shockingly similar to those of America. Well, he _did_ own Texas now…

Suddenly, Matthew sat up straight and looked around the room. Kumajirou did the same, sniffing at the air curiously. "W-Was that a scream?"

Arthur nodded, without saying a single word, a callous smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"W-Where did it come from?" Matthew asked, pulling his bear closer.

"Why, it came from Britain, of course!"

**Note to self: Invite Mexico over for tea sometime… And hide from Alfred… **

* * *

america_is_ awesome50(at)yahoo(dot)com //Inbox(**6**)//

_**Message 1**__**: **_

_To_: america_is_awesome50(at)yahoo(dot)com

_From: _become_1_with_russia(at)mail(dot)ru

**SUBJECT: **:D

America~! How have you been since the meeting? You didn't look like you were feeling well…

Okay.

I'll cut to the bull-shit, da?

Why did you have to go and give Alaska to Canada? You knew that out of everyone to give it to, it should have been me. After all, I used to _own_ Alaska… I'll just leave you with a little note of encouragement for next time… If you fuck up like this again, I'll do to you what I did to Georgia just a while ago…

Now. Have a nice day.

Sincerely, Ivan.

*******

_**Message 2**__**:**_

_To_: america_is_awesome50(at)yahoo(dot)com

_From: _texas_yall(at)yahoo(dot)com

**SUBJECT: **FUCK!!

WTF!? HOW COULD Y'ALL DO THIS TO MEH???!!!!!!!1!111!

_MEXICO???!!! _SERIOUSLY???

THEY HAVE FUCKIN' SWINE FLUUUUU~!!!

I'M GONNA BEAT YER ASS RAT HERE, RAT NOAW! BETTER RUN BITCH!!

.Texas.

*******

_**Message 3**__**: **_

_To_: america_is_awesome50(at)yahoo(dot)com

_From: _icanseerussiafrommyhouse(at)yahoo(dot)com

**SUBJECT: **Canada, really?

Er, America? I just have one quick question… Why in the world would you give me away to _Canada? _Seriously. It couldn't have been Russia, or France, or China, or Japan, or… But _Canada? _Really? It's too cold in Canada! If I become apart of Canada, it'll be cold all the time!! I don't want that! D8 I might as well just be my own _country_! I can walk all over Canada's government! Thanks for nothing, bastard.

_P.S _Sarah Palin is mad… REALLY mad… 8O

_Love Alaska… A new province of… Canada. __**Christ! **_

*******

_**Message 4**__**: **_

_To_: america_is_awesome50(at)yahoo(dot)com

_From:_ trembling-baltic-trio-1(at)gov(dot)lv

**SUBJECT: ***trembles*

Americaaaa~!!! You made Russia maaaaaddd~! Now's he taking all of his frustrations out on meeee~!! It's all your fault! I don't think my head can take much more! I have the worst head-ache I've had in _years! _8O I can't even get _away_ from here! Russia's watching my every move! I don't even know how much time I have left to send this to you! But… Help me!! Russia is such a lgamnfa,gmffg,nmggjhahrupru8839u…

… Isn't Latvia such a funny little boy? He really is quite the treasure… I'm sorry America, but you may not be seeing him for a while. But he's being bad, da? So maybe this is for the best.

Our _fondest_ regards, **Ivan** and Raivis

*******

_**Message 5**__**: **_

_To_: america_is_awesome50(at)yahoo(dot)come

_From:_ barackobamaofficial(at)us(dot)gov

**SUBJECT: **In regards to the, "48 states," of America

Dear Alfred,

I'm going to be as calm about this as I possibly can, but I have to ask you, what you're trying to pull here. If this is a joke, I'd like to know. If you're really serious about giving away two of our states, I'm going to have to step in and do something about this. I understand that you are the representative for our American nation, and in that, you technically are America, but I am your boss here, and I say that this cannot happen. If you have a problem with this, I'd like to talk to you in person, immediately. Next time you decide to do something so unintelligent, I'd like you to run it by me first. I'll have our secretaries and government officials do some damage control, at once…

And Alfred? Get some sleep. It's apparent that you need some…

Sincerely, Barack Obama

*******

_**Message 6**__**: **_

_To_: america_is_awesome50(at)yahoo(dot)com

_From: _arthur_kirkland(at)bl(dot)uk

**SUBJECT: **Fuckin' Brit.

ARTHUR, YOU'RE GOING DOWN, MOTHER FUCKER!!!! YOU'LL REGRET THE DAY YOU DECIDED TO FUCKI'N, FUCK WITH ME! I HATE YOU MORE THAN I HATE YOUR DAMN FOOD OVER HERE! NO WONDER YOU'RE SO ANGRY ALL THE TIME!

P.S Check out this website: flagsofourworld(dot)com ~Have fun! :3

*******

_**Reply All: **_

_To: _become_1_with_russia(at)mail(dot)ru,texas_yall(at)yahoo(dot)com, icanseerussiafrommyhouse(at)yahoo(dot)com, trembling-baltic-nations-1(at)gov(dot)lv, barackobamaofficial(at)us(dot)gov

_From: _america_is_awesome50(at)yahoo(dot)com

**SUBJECT: **stfu.

Fuck off.

*******

**Note to self: Don't check Alfred's email… And don't piss off the President… Or Texas for that matter… Or Russia… Or… **

* * *

"Why would Arthur change his flag pattern like that?" Canada asked, peeking out of the window of their room in the White House.

Needless to say, that after the Texan/Alaskan crisis, Arthur and Matthew had to move houses. American people were dedicated, that was for sure… Upon looking out that peep-hole and seeing thousands, upon thousands, of people weilding banners, flags, signs, and… _Were those torches?! _they had had to be placed under _heavy_ security… As it was, mobs of people still lingered by the gates of the large, government, structure, camping out and hurtling insults over the fence… He wondered what it was like in Britain… Arthur got this strange vision of Alfred, in his body, huddling in some corner of Buckingham Palace, behind his queen.

"Arthur does a lot of strange things when he's drunk," Arthur said, putting down the markers he had been using to colour his design. "He can be quite the twat. I'm glad you're different Matthew." Arthur closed his eyes for a moment, but reopened them when his mind went back to the link to the web-page that Alfred had sent him. Of course he had opened it. The first thing he saw, when he clicked it open, was the headline:

"_NEW British flag design! Not a hit in Britain." _

Underneath the quote, was a picture of England's new flag… The background was still blue… And the general image of the Union Jack was still there… But right in the center of it, bold as ever, was the American flag. A saying was crudely scrawled across it that read, "America **rules**, bitches." _Oh no, he didn't. _

"How about this one?" Arthur held up his drawing for _America's_ new flag, and Matthew looked it over quizzically. His paper was a rough sketch of the American country, with the Union Jack drawn across its surface. There were stars and stripes in the background… Fourty-eight stars…

"I-It's nice…" Canada said, a look of blatant confusion highlighting his features. "I think we should get some sleep though… It's pretty late, and I'm tired… Kumajirou is already asleep."

Arthur sighed and set his flag-design back on the desk. He rose slowly and stumbled over to the large bed, collapsing on its surface… It had been a long day… Too long… Now, Arthur needed to think. But he was too tired to think. How unfortunate. _Not. _

The room went dark and Arthur felt the bed shift under another person's weight. He opened his eyes and the only things that were visible to him, were the soft glow of the moon as it shone through the window, illuminating the room in an incandescent bath of blue, and Canada's eyes, blinking at him through the darkness, only highlighted by the surrounding glow.

Arthur turned his head and smothered himself in his pillow. This was all going down hill. First his eyebrows, then his countries, and then his flag… What was next? He had even dropped down as low as _America's_ level and did the same thing to _him_... He wanted this to stop, but his pride wouldn't let him. And what a shame that was. There was nothing more in this world that he wanted, than to see Alfred's face and tell him that he was sorry… But that would never happen. Not now. All sorts of lines were crossed and Arthur feared they could never go back…

That's when Arthur began to cry again, sobbing noiselessly into his pillow, lest Matthew wonder what was wrong. And yet, apparently, Arthur was too transparent for Canada, who sat still in the darkness and began humming a sad and slow version of America's national anthem, its melody twisted into something both peaceable and terrifying, all at once. "It's been a long time since we had a sleepover," he said, pausing in his song. Arthur wished he would keep going. It was a strange comfort.

"Yes," Arthur said, the fact that he had been crying, all too obvious now. "It has been a long time…" Try, three-hundred years long. "Matthew?" Arthur asked, turning over to face America's twin. His eyes were noticeably red, but Arthur didn't care. For all it was worth, it would only look like Alfred was the one crying… Matthew didn't know.

"Mhm?" He asked, pausing his song once more.

"I'm… Scared." Two words. So why were they so hard to say? "I don't know what to do… About anything… Anymore." Alfred was gone, his country was gone, and his _identity_ was in shambles. "I'm afraid for A-Arthur," he said, stumbling over words to say. "I'm scared for me too… What if I can't fix this?" England's eyes welled with tears again, and he had to put his head down, his shoulders shaking. "I'm scared of… Love." But he didn't think Matthew heard him.

Matthew smiled, a gentler smile compared to Alfred's, and Arthur missed America all the more. "That's strange," he said. "Usually I'm the scared one. But don't worry. This'll work out. You'll see. Now, go to sleep." The man sunk down onto the bed now, making himself comfortable underneath the blankets. He turned his head to face Arthur, and the Briton man cuddled into Matthew, crying lightly into his shirt.

"You missed your flight," Arthur said, burrying his face into Matthew's chest.

Matthew shushed him, and wrapped his arm around Arthur in a brotherly embrace. A nurturing and protecting one. He began his song again, and Arthur drifted off to sleep. Alfred did not deserve him as a brother, that's for sure. _Sometimes_, Arthur realized. _You can find comfort in the most unlikely people. _Then, everything went dark. And yet, Arthur realized two things that night… He was completely in love with an idiotic American, and he was completely alone in it…

"_And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave, o'er the land of the free and the home of the brave…"_

**Yet Arthur Kirkland had never felt so weak. **

*******

"Alfred!! W-Wake up!!! You have to see this!!!"

Arthur sat up, in bed, slowly, rubbing his eyes, the light from the window almost blinding him. "What? What is it?" His mind was still muffled with sleep and he was having troubles focusing. He didn't even fully remember where he was yet.

"**THIS!**" Suddenly, a newspaper was thrust into England's hands by one, very anxious, Canadian.

It didn't take much brain-power to decifer the headline of that morning's newspaper, and Arthur was sure that if he stared at it long enough, he just might be sick… But apparently five seconds was too long, because Arthur ran to the bathroom and lost yesterday's pancakes and the previous evening's alcohol. Behind him, left on the bed, the newspaper read:

"BRITAIN DECLARES WAR ON AMERICA!"

And all through the White House, one word could clearly be heard over any other. And that was a very loud and angry, "**SHIT!!!!!!**" No one knew whether or not the scream had come from their representing country, who happened to have one very British nation living inside of him, or America's newly elected president… No one bothered to ask…

* * *

Aine and Asparas sat on the desk in England and Canada's room, legs crossed and arms relaxed at their sides, as they watched in awe as both nations shrieked in terror and apparent confusion, cursing everything in their sights… Well, that part was mostly their Arthur.

"We need to find that book," Aine said calmly, not taking her eyes off of the two men before her.

"Yeah," Asparas echoed. "We do… We really do…"

And they didn't give that dream, the previous night, to Arthur for nothing. For somewhere, in the world, a special book was waiting to be found that held the key to unlocking both prisoners from their physical hells. And written on the pages of this ancient script were the words:

"_Through both our lives and love, I see the mirror of my soul. A mirror that cannot be broken, nor tainted with the mars of the past. Only the future is reflected in its image. Embrace this mirrored love, and together, separated in body, but held by spirit, we will find true happines… You are the mirror of my life." _

Not only did Aine and Asparas not know what the _fuck_ this meant, but they were beginning to wish that they had gone drinking with Nisse and, 'Princess Sparkle,' who obviously had the right idea at the moment…

* * *

**Author's Note (Again): ***laughs nervously* H-How was that? Isn't Matthew just darling, though? Seriously. Well, at least from Arthur's point of view… We all know Matthew has a dark side, right? ;D And I made up those emails, so if one is, by some weird chance, is yours, what a coincidence! And the US/UK suck at making flags, eh?

So, I would appreciate it SO much, if you would review! I love them so much and they keep me motivated to write more! So, if you want Arthur to stop being sad, drop a comment. Matthew was pleased by your guys' last round of reviews, and they made us both smile! Want that to happen again? **Review, please!*** **


	6. All is fair in love and war

**Story Title: **A Special Relationship of Questionable Identities

**Story Summary: **America and England have a Special Relationship… 'Special,' being the operative word. When Arthur's mythical friends decide to try and save their failing friendship, the two nations wake to realize that they have switched bodies. What will become of these questionable identities, and what will they have to do to return to supposed normalcy?

**Word Count: **Lost count.

**Status: **Ongoing chapters

**Warnings: TONS **of swearing. I swear a lot in writing. -_- **MINIMAL EDITING**. Also, later, there'll be some, err... Suggestive situations. This story also features a boyXboy pairing. If you don't like that, then this story probably won' t float your boat. (In this chapter I write for a few key political figures, which happen to be the United States president, and the British and Canadian Prime Ministers. These are not thoughts expressed by the actual people and no offence should be taken by their words… Which are mine. XD)

**Rating: T+**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Hetalia in any way, shape, or form. I don't own the characters in this story, despite their OOC-ness in some moments. If I owned Hetalia, I wouldn't be writing fan fiction about it, and I would certainly be the supreme ruler of the Universe. That's right. It's that good.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I probably shouldn't be writing an apology letter, but I feel as though I have to. I know a lot of people will argue that you shouldn't apologize for life getting in the way, but I feel as though I really should. When you write a story and call it your own, you can do anything you want with it. But when you write a story for other people and post it where many people can read it, it isn't just yours anymore. It's everyone's. And I felt like I disappointed many of my readers… Especially those who were with it from the beginning.

I'm sure many of you know the feeling of being overwhelmed with school and personal issues, and I'm not trying to make excuses, but I had many of those feelings. I'm coming to the end of my first year of University now. And I wouldn't say that it was overtly difficult, but it was hard enough that it completely de-motivated me to get a lot of writing done. Writing for me became a chore and doing it for fun reminded me of all the other assignments I could have been doing.

I don't know if you guys remember this, but I was always telling you about my friend… Well things with that just went from bad to worse to better to bad to worse and now it's… Well I'm not sure what it is, but that was really hard for me… :( And I was writing this story for her and whenever I sat down to write it, I would get this hopeless feeling. I felt like my friend was my only support when I began writing… I don't know if you guys know what it feels like to be completely cut down that even your passion becomes hard to deal with. Even as I write this I feel saddened.

But you know what? I have to keep writing. :) And I feel inspired now to finish. I know I can't build up your trust enough for you to believe that I would continue, but I'm going to do my best to try and from the bottom of my heart I apologize. I do feel like I've failed in some way, as silly as it sounds. You are all so kind to me and I'm not sure I deserve it. I really love all you guys!! u *hugs*

A special note to reviewers… I once said that I would respond to all reviews… And I have not. There were so many and I was scared to reply on something that I haven't touched for months… I am truly sorry and I hope you'll give me another chance to redeem myself here. 8D I always appreciated your kind words whether I replied or not. They would always make me smile and giggle and no one could take that away from me. You are all great people and if you'll let me, I would like to reply to all of your new reviews.

I hope you don't all hate me… It has been like… Eight months… Yeah… Time sucks. It slips by too fast. But I won't let this story do the same. I have a hold of it now and if you'll follow it again, I'd like to take it to the end. Will you follow? n.n

* * *

_**IMPORTANT!!!!! THE STORY THUS FAR FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO CAN'T REMEMBER WHAT THE HELL I WAS WRITING ABOUT BEFORE!!!!! **_

***** In short, Alfred and Arthur have switched bodies. Arthur is running around in Alfred's skin and vice-versa. At first it was going alright, but throw in some obvious UST and male PMS and you get bitchy USxUK. So they start having petty fights after deciding it would be best to stay in each other's countries (Alfred is in England and Arthur is in America). Arthur's faeries tell him that the only way to change back is either to have both countries unveil their true feelings for one another, or manually reverse it by finding an old book with a spell in it. Arthur opts for the second option. But time is running out as England and America declare war on each other. They will soon find out that it's not the war that they will be having to worry about…***

* * *

**

**Chapter Six: All is Fair In Love and War **

"**Love is like war. It is easy to begin, but very hard to stop." **

**-Henry Louis Mencken **

_**10 Steps to Planning the Ultimate Battle and Winning It: **_

_**1. 'Take care,' of your boss:**_

"_Britain Declares War On America!" _

"_England To Wage War on US!" _

"_American/British War: A Joke?" _

"_They Can't Be Serious!" _

"Alfred?"

"_A Special Relationship Or Just 'Special?'" _

"_British Invasion! And This Time, It's Not Music!" _

"_HAS THE WORLD GONE INSANE?"_

"Alfred."

"_Are We Really Planning For A War, Here?!" _

"_What Are These World Leaders Thinking?" _

"_No Word Yet, From President Barack Obama." _

"Alfred!!!"

"WHAT?!"

Arthur Kirkland whipped his head around to face the young Canadian, Matthew Williams, who stood shuddering behind him. The younger man's face was paler than normal and he was clutching his bear so tightly, that for a moment, Arthur feared that the bear's eyes might start protruding from its skull. Now that was a disturbing thought. Arthur had to stop letting his thoughts drift to strange subjects. Arthur waited a moment for Matthew to formulate a response to his question. Well, it was more like an angry exclamation of annoyance, but he still meant it. "What is it?" He asked again, but more politely this time.

"I'm just concerned for you is all," Matthew said, drifting around to the front of the sofa where Arthur sat, and sitting down. "I mean, you're actually going to go through with this war? I didn't even think things between you and Arthur were _that_ bad! You two had your special re-"

"Don't. Say. It," Arthur said bitterly, his words cold and unnecessarily harsh.

Canada visibly shivered and sank further down into the cushions of the couch. "You're actually going to have a fight against Arthur?"

England bit his lip and looked back to the television, which was muted now, the silence almost louder than the screeching headlines that were reeling before him. Arthur had thought of this. Of fighting. Of course he had. He had found out about Alfred's declaration of war only hours before, but of course he had thought about it. And he was surprisingly calm. Maybe that was why Matthew was so worried. "I don't think there'll be any fighting involved," he finally said, turning his head back towards the northern nation. "Arthur doesn't have the guts to foolishly waste the lives of his people because he's mad at me. If anything, this'll just be a war against us. Between country representatives."

Matthew sat up. "But that's practically the same thing! You know that if you get hurt in this fight, your people will suffer somehow! You already have a terrible economy, Alfred!"

Arthur scoffed and stood quickly. He paced over to the small table in the bedroom he and the Canadian were sharing at the White House. He glanced at the door and eyed the deadbolt with a kind of bored amusement. People had been trying to get in all morning. Arthur had gotten sick of it. Couldn't they see that he just wanted to be alone? Away from all the reporters and political officials? They weren't even _his_ reporters and officials. They were Alfred's. Oh right. Arthur was stuck in America's damn body! The man sighed and sat down in one of the kitchen chairs. He turned back to face the silent television and spoke softly. "Who says I'm going to be the one getting hurt?"

Canada blinked once before setting Kumajirou on the sofa beside him, and turned to peer over the back of the chair to face England. "What about your boss?" The man asked innocently enough.

But of course, Arthur had to snap. "What about him?"

"Um, I-I, uh, I just wondered what he thought about this. I didn't think he'd accept the fact that his country is going to war against Britain." Matthew lowered his head a little and waited in anxiousness for Arthur to reply.

"You don't _accept_ the fact that a country has declared war on you, Matthew," Arthur said pointedly. Well, maybe _Matthew _did. He _was_ Canada after all… "Besides… I've already taken care of my boss…"

Matthew raised an eyebrow despite the tone in Arthur's voice. "You… 'Took care,' of your boss?"

Arthur only smiled darkly and absent-mindedly played with a string of extra rope that adorned the table-top.

In an instant, Matthew was at Arthur's side and held the rope between his slender fingers. "WHAT DID YOU _**DO**_ TO HIM?" Matthew shrieked in blatant horror.

Arthur blinked once, only keeping his serious demeanour for a few seconds. Then he broke out into a smooth laughter. "Relax, Matthew," he said, taking the rope from his hands. "Obama's fine! He's just… Somewhere where this whole war thing won't be bothering him. The man is stressed out enough as it is…" Arthur smiled and Canada just sat down across from him, shaking his head.

_Somewhere Far Away__… _

"W-Where am I?" Barack Obama sat up in a daze, sounds of the ocean audible from all directions. He glanced up to see another man sitting just a few feet away. "Gordon?!"

"Alfred sent you here too? I blame this solely on Arthur." British Prime Minister, Gordon Brown said with a slight chuckle.

"Yes, he did…" The President of the United States sighed heavily. "Do you know where we are anyways?"

"HEY THERE!!!"

Both men looked up to see a young boy standing tall and proud on the railing of what looked to be a small sea-port.

"Who are you?" Brown asked, tipping his head and squinting up into the sunny face of the boy. "And where are we?"

In one swift movement, the boy had jumped from the precarious looking railing, and landed, with a bang, before both world leaders. "Why, I'm Peter Kirkland at your service! And you're in the country of **Sealand**!!!"

Both men looked at each other in confusion before Obama and Brown, respectively, yelled, "_**THIS**_ IS A COUNTRY!!??" And, "THIS IS _**NOT**_ A COUNTRY!!!!"

Sealand only smiled and Obama noted that the country actually looked a lot like Arthur Kirkland. In which case, Brown should have known who he was… It was apparent, however, that the older man did not like this place much…

"Do you have anything to drink then?" Brown asked, voicing the other man's thoughts exactly. There was obviously nothing they could do _now_…

Sealand smiled. "Nope!"

"AHHHHHHHHHHH~!!!"

"What did you _expect_? I'm twelve!!!"

When, and _if_, Obama ever got back to his office, Alfred was so dead. So very dead…

_**2. Pick sides: **_

"HE HAS PRUSSIA ON HIS SIDE??!!" Arthur was not amused. Prussia wasn't even a country anymore! Was that even possible? And America had somehow gotten the man to fight on his side of this war they were having. "Oh we're doomed, Matthew." It was true… Prussia was a good fighter. Beyond good… He was like the Chuck Norris of countries!

"Don't say that!" The Canadian said cheerfully, taking out a pencil and paper, and writing, 'AMERICA,' on one side and, 'ENGLAND,' on the other. The name, 'Prussia,' was written underneath, 'ENGLAND.' "Besides," Matthew said. "You're America! You're the strongest country in the world! Of course you'll win! It doesn't matter if Arthur has Gilbert."

Arthur sighed and thought for a moment. He wasn't sure if he even _wanted_ to win this fight. He _was_ England after all. If Arthur were to win this little spat, it would look good for _America_. Not him. If Alfred lost, it would make _Britain_ shine! But then again, Arthur had his pride, and he was sure America had his. And that stemmed beyond outside appearances. No. This was Arthur and Alfred's battle. Not their country's. He _would_ win this war. Now he just needed a good team of nations… "Germany," Arthur said. "Let's get him on my side."

For a second, no one moved. "FUCK, Matthew!! Get him on the phone NOW!!"

"Y-Yes sir!!"

_Phone call #1: _

Ludwig: Hello? Alfred… This better be good…

Arthur: I want you on my side of the war.

Ludwig: Uhh… *silence* I don't want to be in any war.

Arthur: What if you don't have a choice? *maniacal laughter*

Ludwig: W-Was that a threat?

Arthur: Yes.

Ludwig: Fine. I'll do it. But only because of how Arthur rudely embarrassed me at the G8 meeting.

Arthur: *laughs* Speaking of which, get Italy on our side.

Ludwig: Alright. Count him in. I'll tell him there'll be pasta involved.

Arthur: Great. I'm counting on you. Goodbye.

CLICK.

"Matthew, is Switzerland still neutral?" Arthur asked, pulling out his map of the world.

"Umm," Matthew started, acting as if the answer was somewhere in the back of his brain, which it obviously was not. "I don't know."

"Well, he's good with a gun, right?" Arthur looked back up to Canada, but never let him answer before he was on the phone again.

_Phone call #2: _

Arthur: Vash?

Vash: What.

Arthur: Er… This is Alfred. I want you on my side of the war.

Vash: Will it cost me anything?

Arthur: Well, uh… It's a war… Of course it'll cos-

Vash: Then, no.

Arthur: Fine, fine! I'll pay…

Vash: And dinner's on you too, you say? Wonderful! I'll see you around!

CLICK_._

"JAPAN!!!" Arthur cried, when his pen ran across the Asian countries. He didn't think China would side with America. Or Korea. There was too much tension there already… "I think Japan'll side with us, right?" Arthur asked, as Matthew reached for the cordless phone again. "I know he likes Arthur, but he won't want to break up the Axis, right?!"

Matthew shook his head. "Even so, I don't think Japan would want to side with America… You weren't very nice to him in the second World War…"

Arthur almost laughed. Alfred carelessly destroyed on of Kiku's vital cities, and Matthew called it, 'not being nice.' "Matthew, you're a _git_."

_Phone call #3: _

Kiku: H-Hello?

Arthur: Kiku!!! Long time, no talk!!

Kiku: Um… Alfred, I talked to you the other day at the meeting, and it is well past midnight over here…

Arthur: Oh! I'm sorry! But I had to ask you something. It's important.

Kiku: Yes?

Arthur: I need you to be on my side of the war. It would mean a lot to me and I would forever be in you debt, and-

Kiku: Alright.

Arthur: I'd pay for everything, of course, and it would really be, wait, what? You will?!

Kiku: Can I go back to bed now?

CLICK.

"What about Russia?" Matthew asked, writing down more countries on his notepad.

Arthur looked up to the man. "Are you stupid?" Matthew jumped before Arthur continued. "Russia is not going to side with America after the Cold War. Where _were_ you in the sixties? And I for one think-"

Ring. Ring. Ring.

_Phone call #4:_

Arthur: Hello?

Francis: Ah, America~! How are you mon cher?

Arthur: France… Why do you have my number?!

Francis: You're too cute, mon cher. But I want to be on _your _side of this silly war.

Arthur: Absolutely not.

Francis: But, why?

Arthur: You fuckin' lose every battle you're in!

Francis: That's not true! We won in World War Two, non?

Arthur: Who the hell do you think bailed your ass out of that one too??

Francis: Uhh…

Arthur: Look… I guess it's alright if-

Francis: I promise I won't show you a bad time and I-

Arthur: What the fuck?! *sputtering cough*

Francis: Oui. I believe that is the word I was thinking of…

CLICK.

"Good Lord, Francis is a creep. Damn the French." Arthur looked at Canada, who wore a devastated expression. "Er, I mean, not your French people…" Canada's face brightened, but Arthur pressed on. "It's not like you guys are really speaking French… It kind of sounds like… Rubbish."

"Alfred," Matthew said evenly.

"Yes?"

"Please shut up."

"Alright," Arthur said, putting his hands up in surrender. Minutes later, he spoke again. "So," he began. "Read out the names of the teams."

Matthew cleared his throat and sat up straighter. "Well, on your team, Alfred, you have Germany, North Italy, Switzerland, Japan, and France… And by default, you've got South Italy, Liechtenstein, and Seychelles."

"LIECHTENSTEIN??!!"

Matthew laughed. "Don't be fooled. I heard she's better at using a gun than her brother."

Arthur blinked and then laughed. "I'd pay to see that!" After a moment, he cleared his throat and spoke once more. "And what about you, Matthew. You're on my side, right? I mean, we're brothers…"

Matthew looked away. "You know my boss'll make me fight on Arthur's side… You know, the whole British Commonwealth thing… And our history together."

"Yes," Arthur said. "I know it well. But… This isn't about our bosses, obviously. This is between us. So… Who's side are you on?" The Briton took a breath. "And you do know, that you are aware of all my military planning… If you don't pick my side, I'll just have to kill you." Arthur smiled, and leaned forward. Matthew's eyes were wide with shock, and the older man chuckled. "That's what I thought. You're on Team America! Now… Let's take care of your boss…"

_In Sealand__… _

Sealand giggled. "It looks like I have _three _friends now!"

"_**WHY THE HELL IS **__**HARPER**__** HERE???!!!**_" **(*1) **

_**3. Assign Jobs: **_

"Ludwig!"

"Yes?" The German man answered coolly.

"Do you know what your job is going to be?" Arthur looked at Germany from across the long table before him. The nations had all managed to meet up, only six hours later… Arthur was surprised at their amount of dedication. Now he was going to screw with them. "You're going to be my back-up!"

Ludwig's eye twitched, but he managed a forced smile. "Yes. Of course I am, Alfred."

"And Feliciano?" Arthur pointed to the Italian man next, who was sitting cross-legged in his swivelling chair, eating a large bowl of… Was that pasta? Where the hell did he get that from? When the man looked up, Arthur continued. "You'll also have the great privilege of being my back-up."

"Is, 'privilege,' a type of pasta?"

"Uh… No… Moving on…" Arthur turned to Japan next. "Ah! Kiku!"

"A-Am I your back-up as well, America?" Kiku looked weary, but he wasn't failing in his ability to take down pointless notes, his pen swiftly running across the page.

Arthur smiled. "Yes, of course! Good. I've got a smart guy on my team! For a minute, I thought you were all stupid!"

The nations before him, exchanged leery glances, before turning back to their front-man. Vash spoke up next. "Alright, America. If you tell me I'm your damned back-up, I'm going to kick your ass…" He took out his gun and pointed it straight at Arthur.

The Englishman held up his hands. "Alright! I've got a better position for you anyways!" Arthur paused and thought for a moment. "You'll be my… Reinforcement…" The Briton shut his eyes tightly and turned his head, expecting a quick bullet to the brain. But when he opened his eyes, however, the Swiss had lowered his gun. Maybe his team really _was_ full of idiots…

Arthur turned then to the three nations sitting off to the side, minding their own business. Seychelles was busy pinning some flowers in Liechtenstein's hair, and Romano was muttering something callous under his breath. "You three." Arthur was then met by three pairs of eyes. "You three have _special_ jobs!" All three waited patiently for an answer, and Vash sat up straighter. "You three have the wonderful honour of being… My back-up!!" All of the nations groaned in unison, but Arthur smiled and sat down.

Seconds later, France spoke up. "And what do I get to do?"

Arthur looked at the Frenchman and bit his lip. "You," he started. "Actually have a different job…"

Francis' eyes lit up before Arthur continued. "Your job is to stay at least ten feet away from everyone at all times. If I catch you staring at, groping, molesting, touching, fondling, caressing, ogling at, leering at, seducing, flirting with, scaring, stalking, having sex with, and/or overall _bothering _ANY nation, I will personally beat you so bad, you won't live to _lose _another battle… And don't you _dare _comment on anything I've just said. Are we clear?"

"…"

"I SAID, _'ARE WE __**CLEAR**__'??!!_"

"Oui~!!!"

A moment of eerie silence filled the air, and the only sounds that could be heard were Italy slurping at his pasta, Japan taking notes, and Canada shaking in his chair. Which brought him to his next topic. "Canada, of course you'll be my backup, but I also want you to be head of my Military Defence Program, head of Military Finances, and my right-hand, wing-man."

Matthew's mouth hung open in shock, and the rest of the countries had something to say about that:

"Matthew can't shoot a _gun!_"

"Canada's too much of a _pussy _to fight!"

"How can we have a Military Defence System and a Military Finance Program when there's only _ten_ of us? Are you just making shit up?!"

"He's not even a real man! Does he even have fucking _balls_?"

"This is a _joke_, right?"

Arthur laughed. "I'm a hero! I can do whatever the fuck I want!"

Matthew, however, didn't laugh.

_**4. Practice makes perfect**__**… Or acts as a euphemism for, 'a waste of time.': **_

"Italy! Stop eating and running at the same time!"

"Canada! Stop standing the fuck around!"

"France! I see you breaking _at least _four of my rules!"

"Switzerland! Can you _please _stop pointing your gun at traffic! You can't just _do_ that here!"

"And just my luck, I'd have two _girls_ on my team!"

Arthur stood outside the White-House, in the clearing, which was big enough to support a make-shift training field. The man eyed his group of military personnel with weary eyes. He had found out that Alfred wanted to speak to him later… About the war. No doubt the younger man wanted to draw up some sort of proposition… Or just simply outline the terms of their war. Arthur figured that this war was like their Revolutionary war… Only on crack.

_**5. Have dinner**__**… Or throw it up. **_

"What the hell is this?!"

"It's in every damn country. Where've you been?"

"I apologize in advance for having good taste in food."

What the hell was France and Switzerland fighting about, _now? _The McDonald's was empty. Needless to say, the group of mismatched nations scared everyone away. Only the staff remained, and even then they had to be paid twice their hourly wages just to put up with the group. Arthur didn't even mind paying. He'd demand twice that much money had he been forced to serve _ten_ countries, with _ten_ different personalities, _ten_ grotesque meals, all which would receive _ten_ different critiques.

Arthur Kirkland eyed the burger and fries before him, much like one would eye an approaching enemy, or a toaster that had just burnt your last two pieces of bread, leaving you hungry. Maybe it was the enemy… He had a bad feeling about eating at Alfred's favourite fast food restraunt, but he ignored it because… Heroes eat, 'one of everything on the menu,' apparently… Oh, and Arthur had watched, 'Supersize Me,' with Alfred. **(*2)** Arthur vowed never to eat McDonald's food, ever again, while Alfred complained that the video was making his stomach growl. And yet here the Briton was… 'Eating, one of everything on the damned menu.' His hands shook as he took the _final_ bite of his _final_ burger. Ever. He would _never_ eat this much again. But he didn't want the other countries to get suspicious. It was common knowledge that Alfred gorged himself on this rubbish, and if Arthur were to turn it down, it could spell disaster for his identity… Not that that wasn't already completely disastrous.

To tell the truth, Arthur was feeling quite ill. And by the looks on everyone's faces, they were feeling it too. They chewed their food slowly, and even Feliciano was quiet…Arthur looked down at his food and swallowed slowly. What the hell did Alfred do to their food?!

Canada was the first to get sick. Then it was France. Vash mumbled something about shooting up the next burger-joint he went into, while stumbling into the women's bathroom to throw-up his own food… Which was free. Seychelles didn't even _make_ it to the bathroom, but threw-up under their table. Liechtenstein showed her sympathy by also getting sick too soon. Germany completely left the restraunt, shouting something about how he couldn't handle watching people get sick. Romano had his head down on the table and he was groaning in pain.

"What did we _eat_, here?!" That was Japan as he came out of the bathroom, holding his stomach, only to rush back in, and slam into Canada, only triggering both of their gag reflexes.

The girls were both crying, France was actually away from everyone, shaking in the corner, and Vash was still in the bathroom. Was Romano passed out? And was that Germany yelling down the street, exclaiming that someone was going to die?

Arthur sat perfectly still, still holding his burger between his fingers, grease dripping from the sandwich onto the paper below. The man stared at the scene unfolding before him in complete shock and a subsequent rage, that blinded even his own sense of hygiene. His body was starting to ache and his fingers became numb. The burger dropped from his hands with a sickening thud, and Arthur's mouth dropped open. As the disapproving, agonizing sounds of his army filled his ears, Arthur stood quickly, and yelled, "I SWEAR I'M GOING TO KILL HIM FOR THIS!!!! BIOLOGICAL WARFARE IS NOT FAIR!!!!!" Then he was sick… And oh was he sick. Why the _fuck_ did he eat so bloody much?!

_**6. Hey! Why NOT get pissed drunk and terrorize the American population?! **_

The puking didn't last long. At least Arthur had that to be thankful for. What he didn't expect, however, was Liechtenstein removing a bottle of beer from her purse and taking one, long pull from the drink before handing it to Seychelles, who did the same. Was this whole war-thing enough to drive two, innocent young-ladies to drown their stress in alcohol? They had definitely spent a little too much time with Arthur.

Now, the group was nestled in the confines of the White House. All of Alfred's staff had abandoned the war-efforts, Arthur giving them the time off. He just wanted them out of the way. Surprisingly, they didn't fight it. What with their boss disappearing, they really had no reason to stay. Arthur didn't blame them either. He was sure no normal person could spend ten minutes in a room with France and Switzerland in it. Make that two minutes… Or one.

"Alfred!" Arthur turned around, despite the terrible misuse of his name. As soon as his head had fully faced the small, blonde, girl behind him, a bottle was thrust into his vision. "Here!" Liechtenstein said. "Drink up!"

Arthur took the bottle… He really shouldn't… _Really. _Arthur had to admit that he had a terrible drinking problem… Alfred. Didn't. If Arthur were to get pissed out of his mind, that might look bad on Alfred… "Gimme' that!" Arthur said, taking a swipe at the bottle, clutching it in his hands. He looked at the nations sporadically standing and sitting around in silence. "Let's have a party! One more 'bout of fun before all the spats take place!" To prove his point, and help loosen everyone up, Arthur took a swig of alcohol and held it above his head. "We're nations, dammnit!" In one swift movement, Arthur was standing on the back of one of Alfred's lounge chairs. "We work hard, all the time, we take shit from our bosses, and we're always stereotyped and labelled… I say, it's time to let go of all that bollocks and have one night of… Fun!" He took another drink and looked at the mildly shocked nations before him. "Who's with me?"

After a brief moment of silence, every nation had a bottle in their hands. Even Canada. Everyone was in complete, and total agreement, that this night belonged to them. Screw their bosses, screw what they represented, and screw the other team! Screw practicing, screw their poisonous McDonald's, and screw trying to be things they weren't! The, 'let's-all-get-plastered,' plan seemed to be working just fine.

Within the hour, Arthur had already blacked-out, unable to control his actions or behaviour. And he figured that every other nation was in the same position…

***

Arthur's entire body felt cold. When he tried to move, however, he felt that his limbs were numb. Yet, when he opened his eyes, he was surprised to find that he was lying in a bathtub… Filled with water. Freezing water, no less. Arthur sat up with a loud splash, but upon bearing the full force of a terrible headache, he flopped back into the tub, water splashing over the sides of the bath. The man opened his eyes under the water, and the surface was bright. He held his breath, as the coldness of the water seemed to cool his head and ease the pain there. What the hell _happened_ last night?!

The Briton man sat up slower this time, using all of his strength to pull himself up, and out, of the water. The first thing he saw, as he clutched his arms to his chest, shivering violently, were empty bags that used to be filled with… Ice? He glanced back to the bathtub. Did he pass out in a bathtub full of ice cubes? He looked down. In his clothes?

For some reason, that was beyond the young man, Arthur assumed that when he opened the closed bathroom door, everything would be normal… He shouldn't have thought that. As he stepped out into the hall, his water-filled shoes squishing against the White House's deep-red carpeting, leaving darker splotches of burgundy, Arthur's eyes widened at the sight before him…

Arthur wasn't surprised to see France sprawled out on the sofa, completely naked, his only covering being the shield of a brightly-pink coloured feather boa… His hair was done up in a feminine-style bun, and… Was he wearing make-up?! The man then turned his attention to… "Vash?" Arthur moved toward the Swiss man with caution. Switzerland was laying precariously on the banister of the main staircase that led upstairs, one arm dangling limply down his side, the other resting daintily on his stomach. He wore his boxer, socks, and shoes, his gun-holster completing the outfit.

Moving on… Arthur made his way up the stairs, stepping over empty bottles of beer, garbage, food, bullets, and God knows what else. When he came to the top of the stairs, he came to a series of doors, the first one was open. It was another bathroom. Yet he was surprised to find Matthew curled up by the toilet, a bottle of vodka in his hands. Arthur shook his head as he passed the room. He hoped Matthew wouldn't become even half the drunk that _he_ had turned out to be. The next door was closed, and on it, hung a sleek, black neck-tie. Upon closer inspection, England saw that the tie had a small pin attached to it. A German pin. Arthur blushed, although he tried to will himself not to. He could only imagine who had to be in that room with Germany… He hadn't seen Northern Italy around yet… And it did smell like pasta around the door…

The Englishman wandered the halls, and nearly fell backwards when a few cats ran past his feet, dashing into the room where Feliciano's brother lay sleeping… Covered in whipping-cream, chocolate, and strawberry-sauce, of which the cats became horridly attracted to… He eventually found the two girls of his army. Liechtenstein, holding a rather obscenely large… Paddle. The word, "YAOI," was written across the flat of the paddle, scrawled out in what looked to be… His own hand-writing… Quickly, Arthur grabbed the paddle, without disturbing the girl, and threw it out the window, shattering glass as it went. He could only imagine what the people of America would think when they saw a paddle flying out of the White House window… Oh God, what did they _do_ last night??

On his way to the kitchen, Arthur passed one room, where it was apparent that a chair and desk had been set on fire. Upon entering the room, Arthur blinked when he saw bits of paper, torn up, lying boorishly on the ground. Arthur knelt down and tried his best to put the pieces back in order. It did look rather important. He would hate to have Alfred mad at him for something as silly as- Arthur stopped. 'DEC' He moved around another paper, so that it lined with the first one. 'LERATI.' _Oh no, oh no, oh no! _Third piece. 'ON OF.' There was another space, then, 'INDEPE.' _Shit, shit, __**SHIT!!! **_Once all of the pieces were fitted together, Arthur gazed horridly on the, 'DECLERATION OF INDEPENDENCE.' "Oh dear Lord," Arthur said aloud. "We tore up the Declaration of Independence." If he wasn't dead before, he certainly was now… "DAMN ALCOHOL!"

Arthur sighed, standing up. He might as well change his clothes… He never even wondered why there was a goat eating out of one of the planters, piles of toast stacked precariously on top of the television, or a life-size, cut-out of Paris Hilton, lying face up on one of the beds… Today was going to be a long day. Instead of practicing their military tactics, they would have to spend the day cleaning up… That is, if everyone woke up sometime soon… Maybe his faeries could help… Arthur almost laughed. **(*3)**

_**7. Deal with only **__**slightly**__** pissy faeries… And pixies. And gnomes. **__**And**__** unicorns…**_

"Arthur!"

"Yes?"

"I think we've found out where that book is!"

"What book?"

"Arthur! The one that'll change you back!! Or were you drunk then too?"

"Hey! Bloody prats… Like you guys should be talking…"

Arthur was cleaning. Cleaning hard. Eventually, the other nations awoke. Needless to say, everyone was suffering from horrible hangovers… Was it strange that the only countries who weren't affected were himself and France? He hated to use the word, 'immune,' but he was pretty sure that he was _now_… After everyone's headaches had settled, they had begun their cleaning expedition… No one knew what had happened, and they all agreed that that mystery was better left unsolved. Romano was especially partial to that idea.

"So the book?"

England looked up and found his friends staring down at him with looks of contempt in their eyes.

"Just let me think!! I think I may have to go home for a while. It's a wonder anyone can get anything done with all your annoying chatter."

And so the key to Arthur's escape went unexamined yet again.

_**9. Play games with the enemy. So to speak: **_

It was evening now, and Arthur stood staring up at one of his favourite British monuments. Big Ben. Yes, he was on enemy territory. Even though that territory belonged to him, he was technically playing the part of a nation who did not own such architectural masterpieces.

So. In Britain. Canada had been against it. "You can't go to talk to Arthur!" Canada had been in the middle of cleaning up regurgitated McDonald's off of the kitchen floor from the previous night. It had been early afternoon and his hang-over didn't last as long as Arthur had thought it would. Matthew took a much needed pause and spoke through a plugged nose. Arthur also held his breath, because frankly, McDonald's, especially in the form of vomit did not sit right with him. "Arthur's crazy mad at you right now. You're having a war… You can't just walk into enemy territory and, 'chit-chat,' with the opposing leader… You could get hurt."

Arthur took a breath, which he regretted when he felt his stomach heave. "Alfr- _Arthur_ would never hurt me. Sure he's upset at the moment, but he would never intentionally harm me. This is just a mild spat that will be settled without violence." Reading Canada's mind, Arthur continued. "Yes, I know this a war, and wars are defined by violence, but this is a war between national personifications… It's different. War becomes an entirely different thing. Battles are fought by words and minor actions. We can't die from this."

Matthew had no response.

"In that case," England continued. "I am going to Britain." He paused. "And hurry up and clean up that mess. It's disgusting."

Now, as Arthur walked decisively across the bridge to his expected meeting place with Alfred, he was having second thoughts. What if he was wrong? He suddenly felt a wave of fear and bitter nostalgia wash over him. If Alfred had of held the gun, would he have been able to shoot? Arthur was unarmed this time, but this was no Revolutionary war. There was no independence to be had… Or rather, both nations were fighting for their own independent personas back. Arthur almost had the gall to laugh out loud. He supposed that that was truly the definition of one of his favourite words. Irony.

As Arthur walked further out onto the bridge, he felt his stomach twisting in knots. It was dark, but still there were no people there. That was odd… There were always people…

"Arthur."

To say the Englishman jumped out of his skin, was a bit of an understatement, particularily due to the fact that the man who called his name was unfamiliar to him. "Alfred?" Sure enough, green eyes peered up at him through a veil of pale-blonde bangs… The man before him was unlike anyone he had ever seen… His skin was pale… Like porcelain. His soft features looked almost breakable to the touch. Alfred's, or rather, his own, eyes looked darker, their previous luminosity diminishing into near nothingness. The nation before him was smaller and thinner, melting away into London's backdrop and fading into the night sky. He wore a weak smile now.

"You look like shit." Those should have been Arthur's words… Because truly, Arthur's body looked terrible… Sick. But those had not been Arthur's words. They were America's.

Arthur looked down at his borrowed body and shivered. Alfred's frame was thinner, he could tell, and now that Alfred had brought it to his attention, England felt weak. Light-headed. Sick. Their war had yet to begin, and they already looked like post-traumatic-stress cases… "Alfred," Arthur said again. "I don't know if I can fight you." Honesty. He said it. It was what he had been thinking all along. He didn't have the strength to fight with Alfred. Again.

America said nothing and Arthur felt a sharp pain in his chest, like something was stabbing his heart and twisting the weapon in an agonizing assault. He almost doubled over, but his dignity kept him upright. Alfred's physical pride kept him standing. Still, America remained silent. "Alfred, I-"

"Arthur."

England silenced himself. His voice. His heart. Everything.

"This is life… It's the real world, Arthur. Things are settled by actions. I'm sick of fighting, England. We're always fighting… So let's settle it. Let's settle this by finishing this fight."

Arthur looked up, as his eyes had been downcast towards the ground. "What?" That was his only reply. What was this boy _saying? _Fight? He wants to fight me. He wants to win. "Alfred, do you know how immature you sound? How irrational? I'm pretty much surrendering here, and you want to keep on with this bloody _war-game_?!"

"Heroes don't quit, Arthur. This isn't a big deal. People fight all the time. Only, I want to finish fighting. We need to settle this once and for all. With one last fight… This war. Why are you so bothered by this? We fight all the time. What's so different?"

_Alfred, it hurts me when we fight__… Every time… Every time I call you names. Every time I pull away… Can't you see I'm trying to protect myself? It hurts to care and it hurts to like you. _"I…" _It was my fault… It's always my fault. I'm always fighting with you over petty little things… I'm the one at fault. _"I'm sorry."

Alfred said nothing but turned away. Arthur stood, willing himself not to shake. "Say something… Anything."

"I'm going to fight you, Arthur. Like you have been fighting me for years and years… Maybe you'll stop being bitter about things that happened lifetimes ago." Alfred looked back to Arthur and smiled. It was pained and weak, but something about it still held charm. "The Revolutionary War. It still bothers you. I can tell. I'm you remember? I can feel it. But you can't let that hurt you anymore. I'm over it. That's a small matter in relation to the real world, here and now."

Arthur gritted his teeth. He was angry now. Forget the hurt. Forget the war. Forget Alfred. "Fine," he said bluntly. "You want a fight? I'll give you a fight. And I'm going to win this time… You say that this is, 'the real world,' but I'm living in the real world. My world. And I'll be damned if I let you ruin it for me… I shouldn't suffer for this. You left _me_ during that war, Alfred…"

America turned to fully face the Briton. "No." He said with a smile. "_You _left me." And then he was gone. Disappearing into the London fog in an unsubstantial breath of mystery.

Arthur looked down at his hands as Alfred's last words clung to the mist like a life-line, willing themselves to live, but wanting nothing but death. "Fuck you…" Arthur said, his eyes welling with tears as he watched Alfred's hands blur out of his vision. "Fuck you… You're a liar… Don't you know, I can feel you to? Bloody idiot… Don't you know how much I love you?" But just like Alfred's words, his last thoughts of ambling confession died with the smoke of the earth… This was a mistake. To see Alfred… It had been a mistake.

_**10. Cliff-hang to be cruel and did anyone notice that there was no #8?: **_

"Give that back to me!"

"Yeah right! I'm not going to clean up your mess again… And don't you think you've had enough to drink tonight?!"

"If I'm not drunk, then no!"

Arthur fought for the bottle of alcohol desperately, reaching into thin air to re-claim his drink from his annoying little friends… But they were relentless. "Arthur! We need to tell you something and you can't be drunk!"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "This isn't about some bloody book, is it? I don't have time for this rubbish… I have a war to strategize." It was a losing argument, and soon, Arthur found himself seated in one of Alfred's plush lounge-chairs, back in the confines of the White House.

"We found out some more information about this situation…" It was Pix who spoke up first. "Since you can't switch back willingly, by admitting to each other that you secretly want to smex it up, we have to do it manually by finding a spell book!"

Arthur let out a scowl and sunk into his chair, letting them continue. "So," he began coolly. "What you're trying to tell me is, we have to embark on a wild goose chase to find this book… In the middle of a war." Arthur stopped and then sat up straight. "Do you think I have TIME for any of this?!"

"Well you're going to have to MAKE time for this, because you're going to die!"

"How do you expect me to just stop all my plans, leave all these nations here, gallivant around the world trying to find something that I don't even know exists, and just put a hold on the war?! Do you know how far ahead Alfred is going to be?!"

"Well did you know that both of you won't be ahead at all if you keep this up!? This war isn't going to kill you. But being in another's body for an extended amount of time is not a good thing. Alfred's body will start to reject your presence."

Arthur set his drink down and sighed. Although his exterior was calm and collected, inside he was reeling. The idea of Alfred's body rejecting him made him a little sad… But he took it as some biological problem and not a personal one. "So," Arthur said too slowly. "If I put my end of the war on hold and go look for this book, the whole problem should fix itself? We might not even need to fight a war…" But… He wanted to start a war. He had been so certain of that. Right now, more than anything, he wanted to win. England wanted to be the victor this time. To be the one holding the gun… The one able to shoot… But he wanted to do it in _his _body. He would have the best of both worlds. Have his cake and eat it too. He would fight and win the war in his own body. Either way, there was going to be a war. In his own body or not. He had never been more mad and numb to Alfred in his entire life.

"I'll do it," he said finally.

Arthur's friends smiled broadly. "We told you that it would have been more easy to admit that-"

"There are no feelings."

No one said anything for a very long time until Pix spoke again. "Everyone has feelings, Arthur, but it takes a special person to realize them to be true."

Arthur pursed his lips and said quickly, under his breath, "We'll leave tomorrow."

"Ah-! Excuse me?"

Arthur jumped and he noticed the swift disappearence of his faerie friends. He saw his azure eyes first, and then his golden hair… "Alfred?"

"No… Matthew… What's going on? Are you alright? Who were you talking to?"

Arthur stood up quickly. Too quickly. His balance was off and the alcohol he had just consumed did not help. Neither did the feeling of complete loss and confusion when he realized that he actually missed America at the same time he wanted to kill him. His stomach lurched and he held his head, the glasses framing his face, slipping from his nose. "Bollocks… I need a minute…" Any attempts to hide his British accent were gone and Canada could have heard clearly, his old English dialect. "I'm sorry," he said, falling to his knees. He never wanted to break down…

Matthew stood still for a moment before rushing to his side. Canada was always better at figuring things out than America had been. "A-Arthur?" His voice sounded far away and hollow to Arthur's ears. "England? H-How is that-? Arthur… Tell me what's going on!!"

Arthur looked up, but the tears in his eyes blurred his vision and the diziness of his spirit was enough to drown out all coherent thoughts. "I… I don't know anymore, my boy…" And he collapsed into the darkness that surrounded his entire situation.

The last thing he heard was, "I always knew it was you… I always knew…"

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**(*1): **I'm actually not sure how many people are even aware that the Canadian Prime Minister is Stephen Harper. I am not going to share my political views on him here. XD

**(*2): **Has anyone else seen this movie where a guy has to eat McDonald's (and only McDonald's) for a long time to see its health effects? It's kind of sickening now that I think of it… We had to watch the movie in my Media Studies class in my final year of high-school and at the movie when everyone vowed never to eat McDonald's again, I asked if I was the only one who felt like a burger. XD Damn. I could never give up McDicks. (And apparently my province is the only one who refers to McDonald's as McDicks… Does anyone else say this?? XD Haha~)

**(*3): **I hope someone, somewhere has written a fanfic that is basically like the Hetalian version of, "The Hangover." That is what that scene reminded me of. XD

* * *

**Author****'s Note (Again): **Ah ha ha… So… What did you think? This chapter is strange… I wrote it over the course of literally eight months and I felt a lot of different things while writing it. Could you tell when I was sad, angry, sick, hopeful? It's all there! Haha! But as screwed up as this chapter was, I've already begun planning the next ones. I never lied when I said I wasn't going to finish it, although it has been a long time. If you do not wish to continue with this story, I'd understand completely. We had a good run with it, hey? And I appreciate everything you reader's have done for me. *v*

I know you probably won't believe me, but now that I am finished school, I would like to finish this for everyone… And I will do my best to reply to all reviewers (if any). So. Once again, I apologize from the depths of my heart and I hope I'll see some of you in chapter seven!!


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